Contingency Plans
by Prisoner 24601
Summary: Co-authored with Dinah Lance. For a former Mandalorian General and an ex Dark Lord, saving the galaxy was the easy part. Building a life in the aftermath is the real challenge.
1. Plan B

A/N: Co-authored with Dinah Lance. For those following along, this post-game one shot is a follow up to a series of in-game shorts starting with "Playing with Matches," and specifically the events of the short "Getting Burned" which can be found over on Dinah's page. It should, however, be able to stand on it's own.

Also, this was a stand alone in a series of one shots, but we are now consolidating them as chapters under one story to make it easier for people to follow the posts. So thank you for the patience as we reorganize a bit to make things easier to find.

_**Chapter 1 - Plan B**_

As he waited for his visitor, Ja'Taren Allonis Revan paced in front of the floor-to-ceiling duraglass window that stretched along the length of his study and overlooked Courscant's bright city nightscape. Running a corporate empire that spanned thirty-seven star systems left him little time for useless woolgathering. Normally he wouldn't have spared the time to study the breathtaking view that he paid so much for, but recently the concerns of his personal life had begun to eclipse even his important business ventures.

His granddaughter's miraculous return from the dead was the source of great relief and happiness, but there were those in the Senate who were hell bent on keeping Minuet from reaching her next naming day. Ja'Taren had already lost her twice—once to the Jedi and once to the Sith, and he was not about to lose her a third time if the myopic, hypocritical Senate could not be reasonable about the woman to whom they owed their continued existence. He had every intention of using all of his considerable wealth and influence to save his granddaughter, whether or not she wanted him to.

Which was the reason for this meeting. Minutes dragged by and Ja'Taren's patience began to fray. He was beginning to wonder if the Mandalorian had blown him off when the comm on his desk beeped.

Ja'Taren's long brown fingers pressed the comm button, revealing the ghost white face of his security chief. "Sir, your guest is here."

"Good. Send him to my study."

The security chief frowned at something or someone beyond the range of the comm. "There's a problem. The Mandalorian refuses to give up his weapons."

"You didn't ask nicely," a deep voice drawled in the background.

Ja'Taren could practically hear his security chief's teeth grinding over the comm. Or maybe that was his own teeth grinding.

"You heard the man," Ja'Taren said. "I expect to see him up here in no less than five minutes," he snapped, as he cut the connection.

Ja'Taren sat, resisting the urge to pace further and limited his outward show of irritation to drumming his fingers on his desk. Another flick of his fingers brought up the dossier he had prepared on the Mandalorian, and he reviewed the information until his protocol droid shuffled into the room, followed by the man himself.

Even if he hadn't had the man thoroughly investigated, Ja'Taren would have known Ordo was a mercenary simply from the rough clothing and heavy combat boots that scuffed along the priceless handwoven carpet. But it was Ordo's arrogant military stance that caught his attention, hinitng that this man was more than just ordinary mercenary trash. In fact, the Mandalorian looked exactly like the man he needed.

Ja'Taren didn't offer him the courtesy of standing; he merely gestured toward one of the delicate chairs made out of rare Telosian darkwood in front of his desk and said, "I wasn't sure you'd come."

As Ordo dropped his not inconsiderable frame into the chair, it creaked ominously. It protested still further as the man sprawled his legs out in front of him and laced his fingers behind his head. He shrugged. "Min thought I should see what you wanted. And you're all she's got for Clan. I'll hear you out."

"Clan," Ja'Taren said, tasting the word on his tongue. It was a crude word, but appropriate nonetheless. "Yes, I suppose I am. She has other relatives, of course, but on the whole they were quite dismayed to discover she was alive."

The Mandalorian scowled at that. Intimidation would be nothing new to this man. "Then they're not Clan."

Ja'Taren's lips twitched. "Perhaps I will tell them that the next time they come by and try to wheedle their way into inheriting my fortune. As far as I'm concerned, Minuet is the only relative I have." His near smile settled into a deep frown. "Which is why I am anxious about this upcoming Senate vote. You must know that despite the efforts of Captain Onasi, Jedi Shan, and the Jedi Council, she is in very deep trouble."

"Yeah," Ordo deadpanned dryly. "I noticed that."

"I've lent my assistance to Shan and Onasi's efforts. However, they are not aware of how far I have gone already, or what I would be willing to do to keep my granddaughter safe. I'm certain they would not approve of my methods. They seem to be overly..." He waved his slender brown hand. "...idealistic and I don't want them getting in my way because they have some kind of unrealistic moral objections."

Ja'Taren had thrown all his considerable resources at the Senate and called in every political favor he'd acquired in the past fifty years of his business dealings. The amount of money he had laid down to influence the Senate vote in his granddaughter's favor was staggering even to a man who had a habit of making million-credit deals before he drank his first cup of caffa in the morning.

Bribes, kickbacks, and promises to create jobs on backwater, industry-poor worlds were just the beginning. Threats to pull his corporate holdings off of other planets and put thousands of their citizens out of work had worked wonders getting many Senate votes. So had sending investigators to dig up secrets in order to blackmail those who remained stubbornly against him. But even after all of his expenditure and efforts, there was no guarantee that the Senate would make the right decision. Which was where the Mandalorian came in.

Ordo snorted his agreement, then sat forward. Ja'Taren had the impression he had the man's attention for the first time. "I'm listening."

"But you—you're no stranger to getting your hands dirty, are you?" Ja'Taren rested his elbows on the desk and studied the Mandalorian over the polished dark wood. "If the Senate votes to take her from the custody of the Jedi, the Order will have to hand her over. She will executed, possibly even without a trial. So I need to know how far you would be willing to go to help my granddaughter."

Ordo scowled. "As far as it takes. They don't touch her."

"Excellent." He turned and gestured toward the console in front of him. "Simply tell me what your fee is and I will add ten percent." This wasn't the usual way Ja'Taren negotiated a deal, but Ordo might be her chance at staying alive and he wasn't going to endanger her by haggling over such an insignificant thing as price.

"Fee?" The Mandalorian spat the word like a curse. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ja'Taren turned back to the mercenary, frowning and wondering if the man had taken one too many head wounds. It was something to consider carefully. If Ordo was this slow, he was not the man to ensure his granddaughter's safety. "For your services. You are a mercenary, correct? If we fail to secure the Senate vote in favor of the Jedi, you will be the contingency plan. You will have to break her out of their custody and elude the combined forces of the Jedi and the Republic military. That's not something I would expect you do to for free."

The man was muttering to himself in a way that did little to assuage Ja'Taren's fears for his mental capacity. "I made a vow to protect Revan," Ordo said finally. "That's not something... I'm not taking your money," he finished with a sneer of distaste.

Ja'Taren's brows rose. Such depth of loyalty from a man such as this was unexpected, and it complicated everything. Ja'Taren preferred to deal with something much more concrete, like credits for a job done. That was the entire reason for approaching the mercenary instead of the other _Ebon Hawk_ crew members.

His frown deepened as he struggled to understand what motivated the Mandaloran. Ordo was old enough to be her father; perhaps he saw Minuet as some sort of adopted daughter. Upon reflection it made sense. Minuet had a knack for inspiring loyalty in her companions, and from what he'd learned about the Mandalorian's background, Ordo's people had been decimated and scattered. "Does this vow of protection make her a member of your..." Ja'Taren groped for the word the Mandalorian had used earlier. "...Clan?"

Ordo shook his head, though Ja'Taren could not tell if it was in denial or just a sign of the Mandalorian's annoyance with the need to explain. "She killed Mandalore. She's beyond Clan."

Yes, that was the most surprising thing about the intel his investigators had uncovered. Ja'Taren would have expected the Mandalorian to hate his granddaughter for crushing his people, but all of the evidence indicated that he revered her for it.

"I don't understand you or your culture, Mandalorian, but I suppose I don't have to as long as we share the same goal. Can you actually pull this off?"

Ordo snorted. "I've kept her alive this long, haven't I?"

"That's quite the arrogant attitude coming from a man who was a mercenary thug until my granddaughter came along. Minuet was taking care of herself long before she ever met you. Normally I would trust my granddaughter to extract herself from this mess, but she seems to be caught up in her own guilt at the moment." He tapped his finger against his chin. "In fact, you probably shouldn't tell her about this at all. I don't like keeping her in the dark, but I don't want her throwing herself to the kath hounds in some kind of misguided effort to face justice. Knowing how stubborn Minuet can be, she'd probably try to stop you."

"Stubborn?" Ordo snorted. "That's a polite way to put it."

"And how would you put it?"

The man leaned back in the chair again, pulling a pack of cigarras and a lighter from his pocket. He tapped one out and lit it. "I usually refer to it as having her head up her ass."

Ja'Taren couldn't decide if he should be indignant on his granddaughter's behalf or amused at the accuracy of that statement. "Are you going to be able to handle her? A rescue won't do any good if she fights you every step of the way or tries to turn herself in after your escape."

"I've gotten a lot of practice calling her on being a dumbass." Ordo grinned. "I usually win."

But Ja'Taren was not about to bet his granddaughter's future on the Mandalorian's colossal ego. "I can't believe it will be that easy. You'll be taking her away from the people she cares about the most, unless you're planning on taking Shan, Onasi, and the rest of the _Ebon Hawk_'s crew with you."

Ja'Taren wasn't sure how feasible that would be. While he knew the captain and his granddaughter were lovers, the captain seemed to be so utterly upstanding that Ja'Taren wasn't certain that the man would be willing to defy the Republic even to save her life. It was an unfortunate situation. He did not want to cause his granddaughter further pain by seperating her from her lover, but keeping her alive, no matter what the cost, was his highest priority.

He shook his head. "I know my granddaughter. It's going to be difficult to convince her to leave them."

"She knows Onasi will look after the Jedi Princess," Ordo replied. He took a drag of his cigarra. "And she knows I won't stop until she comes with me. She'll come to keep me from being locked up."

Ja'Taren frowned, boggling at the Mandalorian's overinflated sense of self-importance. "You think that she would choose saving you over staying with him?"

Ordo raised an eyebrow, as if Ja'Taren had been the one to make a preposterous statement. "Him who?"

"Captain Onasi, of course," he said, irritated that he had to spell out something so obvious.

The Mandalorian's expression didn't change. "If that's as good as your intel gets, we might have a problem."

"That didn't come from my intel," he snapped. "That came from her."

Ordo crossed one foot over the opposite knee and stubbed his cigarra out on the sole of his boot. "Then you must have heard wrong."

"Unlikely. She told me that she'd fallen in love during the mission–" He cut himself off as he realized that she hadn't said the man's name; he'd just assumed that she meant Captain Onasi since the man was the obvious choice. But suddenly the reason for the Mandalorian's smug arrogance became clear. "Are you telling me," he said slowly, his anger growing into fury with each passing word, "that she was talking about _you_?"

Ordo inclined his head in assent, looking more smug than ever. "Unless she's stringing some other poor bastard along."

Ja'Taren remembered this feeling with acute clarity, even though it had been years since the last time he'd experienced it. There were times in the past when it seemed he'd lived in a constant state of dismay and exasperation with his granddaughter. Every time she'd been kicked out of a boarding school he'd spent a fortune on, every time she'd stolen one of her father's swoop bikes and wrecked it, every time she ran away from the Jedi or came for a visit with some completely unsuitable man in tow, he'd felt it.

The curses he'd learned working at the docking bays in the lower quarter back when he was a young man with barely two credits to rub together flowed from his mouth as he shot to his feet and stalked over to the bar. He poured himself a liberal glass of his best firewhiskey and drained half of it in one swallow before turning back the Mandalorian.

He jabbed his finger at Ordo, as his other hand tightened around the fine crystal glass. "Of course it would be you. I should have known. Minuet never had any sense when it came to men."

The Mandalorian got to his feet slowly, hands in fists, jaw tight. "I just told you I'd do anything to keep her safe," he rumbled. "She told you she's in love with me. What the hell else do you want?"

Ja'Taren's outrage echoed throughout the study. "Where do I start? I want her with a man who isn't over twenty years her senior, for one! What is she, some kind of trophy? Are you really this shameless or are you just desperate to recapture your lost youth?"

Ordo spat something at him in Mandalorian, an insult by the livid scowl on his face. "Watch yourself, old man. There aren't words in your language for what she is to me."

Ja'Taren scoffed as he glared at the Mandalorian. "Is that so? Do you really think you're the first man to sit in that chair and declare your devotion to my granddaughter? That Malak boy swore that he'd protect her too, and he tried to kill her _twice_!"

Now that he knew, Ja"Taren couldn't believe that he hadn't seen it before. Captain Onasi was the kind of man Ja'Taren had hoped she'd bring home for years—a wholesome, safe, and upstanding family man—which meant that Minuet probably didn't even look at him twice.

"You are just like Malak," he snarled as he dismissed the Mandalorian with a wave of his hand. "Large, dangerous, crude, and arrogant. Exactly the type of man she'd fall for."

"Compare me to Malak again, and I might forget your Revan's Clan." Ordo glowered down at him. "I'm bound to her. My life, my honor. If you've got half the brains Min claims you do, you know what that means to a Mandalorian."

Ja'Taren was so angry that it took him a several seconds to choke the words out. "You're _married_?"

Ordo shrugged. "Near enough."

"You arrogant son of a schutta! How dare you presume to marry my granddaughter? What kind of life can a man like you possibly offer her?"

"I can offer her everything she wants," Ordo spat. "I can give her freedom. What the frack have you ever given her?"

The words hit their mark, maybe even more than the Mandalorian knew, but Ja'Taren was not about to get sidetracked by past mistakes and old guilt. "You talk about honor, but a year ago you were working as a thug for a minor crime lord. You talk about Clan, but your people are dead or scattered and your homeworlds abandoned. You talk about giving her freedom, but you can't give her stability. You talk about protecting her, but all you have is your blade. And how long will that last given the fact that you're old enough to be her father?"

"Long enough." Ordo flicked the remnant of his cigarra onto the priceless Iridonian carpet. "You want me to prove myself worthy? I dragged her ass off that Star Forge. The only reason you've got her back is because of me. You want me to dig her out of the shit she's buried in now? Fine. Ask me to do whatever the hell you want. Because there's not a damn thing you can ask that'd be harder than dealing with the mess after she remembered who she is."

"What do you mean?" Ja'Taren demanded.

The Mandalorian crossed his arms over his chest. "I mean that if you think she's wallowing in guilt now, you've never seen how far she can take a wallow."

The cold burn of fear made Ja'Taren's chest ache. "Are you telling me that she tried to..." He couldn't finish. The idea that she would want to die so badly that she would end her own life wasn't something he could say out loud.

"She asked Onasi to kill her." Ordo's voice was flat and his gray eyes hard.

Somehow, that seemed even worse. Ja'Taren remembered that he was still clutching the glass of whiskey. It seemed like a good time to finish it.

"And now?" he asked, after the liquor burned away the lump in his throat. "Would she try something like that again?"

"I said I'd protect her, didn't I?" the Mandalorian snarled.

"That's _not_ what I asked."

Ordo swept a hand through the air impatiently. "She won't get the chance. Not as long as I'm around."

Scowling, Ja'Taren studied the Mandalorian in silence for a long time. Then he turned, set the crystal glass down gently, and walked over to the window and looked out at the nightscape below.

Eventually, he turned and sai,. "You are not what I would have chosen for her, but you are what I have to work with. I don't trust you, Mandalorian. If you hurt her, I will have you killed, and if you fail her, you'd better be dead too."

Ordo gazed back at him impassively. "I think we finally understand each other."

Ja'Taren made a noncommittal grunt as he sat back in his chair behind the desk. "She's going to need more than just your protection." He gestured at Ordo's dossier on the holoscreen in front of him. "Whether we win this Senate vote or you have to disappear with her, she still needs to rebuild her life. You've spent your whole life fighting battles. Are you even capable of doing anything else?"

"What? You worried I can't provide for her?" Sneering, Ordo gestured around the room. "Afraid she might not live in a penthouse surrounded by worthless crap?"

Ja'Taren's brows rose skyward again. The Mandalorian really had no comprehension of what he was dealing with. He supposed he should be grateful that Ordo wasn't a gold digger.

"Minuet has a trust fund that's larger than the budgets of most backwater planets. Anything she wants, she can buy for herself. She doesn't need you to provide for her." Ja'Taren crossed his arms. "No. I'm worried that she's married to a man who has no idea how to be a husband."

Ordo raised an eyebrow. "How many men have you known that knew how to be a husband before they got married?"

"None. But I haven't known any fifty-three-year-old Mandalorian bridegrooms either." He scowled, the guilt that was always in the background clawed in his gut. "She's had enough grief from her own family, not to mention those Jedi bastards. She should be wanted and needed and valued for a change."

Gray eyes glared at him. "You think I'm in this for kicks? I told you I'm bound to her."

"You keep her safe, make her happy, and give me some great-grandchildren, then in a few years I might believe you."

Ordo snorted. "I'll do those things no matter what. Believe me or not."

Well, that was something, at least. Ja'Taren had all but given up on Minuet producing some heirs. If the Mandalorian could manage to convince her otherwise, then that was a huge point in his favor.

"Good." Ja'Taren considered for a moment before adding, "Children would be better sooner rather than later, as neither you nor I are getting any younger."

"Talk to Min. She'll give you more trouble about that than I will."

"She wouldn't be Minuet if she didn't give me trouble. There's nothing about my granddaughter that's easy," Ja'Taren said, his tone equal parts exasperation, affection, and admiration.

The Mandalorian barked a short laugh. "Now I know we understand each other."

"Yes, I believe that we do." He rose from his chair and handed a credit chit to the Mandalorian. "Expense is not an issue. Whatever you require to make this happen is yours."

"Just let me know if the vote starts to look bad," Ordo replied. "The sooner I know, the quicker I can get her out of there."

"It's going to be close. Those ungrateful bastards in the Senate are quick to forget how much they owe my granddaughter. Most likely we won't know how the vote will break until the very last minute."

Ordo scowled. "Maybe we shouldn't wait."

"I'm tempted to agree," Ja'Taren said. "It's risky, but if you disappear with her now, they'll hunt her for the rest of her life. She'll be in hiding and I'll never see her again." He cleared his throat. "For one long, terrible year, I thought she was dead. I just got her back. I'll let her go, if I have no choice, but I want to give her a real future that I can be a part of."

The Mandalorian appraised him with a tight jaw. "Fine," he ground out finally. "But don't wait too long. Or we're going to have a problem."

"I know what I need to do. You just be ready to do your part if she needs you, and I will take care of the rest."

Ordo nodded, then turned and headed for the door. He paused on the threshold. "You pay a lot for security? 'Cause I've still got two knives on me. You're wasting your money."

"Good to know. I'll take care of that at once." He paused before adding, "The next time you come, bring as many weapons as you can we'll see if the new guards catch it." He sat back down at his desk. "Now, I'm assuming you can find your way out, without stabbing my staff in the process."

"I'll do my best. No promises." And with a final arrogant smirk, he left.

Ja'Taren watched the door hiss shut behind his granddaughter's Mandalorian husband, torn between the hope that the Mandalorian would be able to deliver on everything he promised and exasperation over his granddaughter's unexpected choice. His finger hovered over the comm button as he considered contacting his granddaughter and demanding to what she was thinking by marrying such a man, and why she hadn't told him herself. But as he knew that would change nothing, Ja'Taren decided the lecture could wait a bit, so with a wry shake of his head, he turned to the console, pulled up a list of Senators, and got back to work.


	2. Sucker Punched

A/N: This is co-written with Dinah Lance and previously published over on her page as a one-shot. Since the series has grown more than we thought it would and since it's getting a bit unwieldy to post these as one-shots, we're consolidating all the post game series under one story. So hopefully this should make things a bit easier to find and keep the bouncing between our pages to a minimum. Thanks for the patience everyone.

**_Chapter 2 - Sucker Punched_**

The Knight escorting Canderous to the garden was new. Kind of twitchy too. He kept throwing sidelong glances, his hand hovering over the hilt of his lightsaber. At least he didn't look like he was going to crap his pants like the last one. This one almost looked like he wanted Canderous to try something. Probably a newly made Knight looking to prove his place. For all the Jedis' hypocritical banthashit about peace and defense, some of them loved the fight. The Mandalorians knew it. Min knew it too. It was how she'd recruited so many.

They turned the corner into the usual small garden where the Council had agreed Min and Canderous could meet. It was mostly out of the way, enough for privacy's sake anyway, if the Council hadn't required a Master be on hand at all times when they spoke. Canderous scowled up at the flowering tree they usually sat under. It was going on four months since they'd been alone together, and the smell of the thing was starting to put Canderous in a bad mood. He dropped onto the bench, and the Knight took up position a dozen paces away, still watching.

It didn't take long before Min appeared, but instead of the male Twi'lek that usually babysat them, a white-haired human woman walked alongside her. Min looked tired and distracted and barely glanced at the woman until she pressed a button on her wrist chrono and said, "Your time begins now. You have exactly one half-hour."

Min's attention snapped to the Jedi Master. "What? Why? Master Zhar always let us have at least an hour."

"Master Zhar was far too lenient with you, which is why Master Vrook and I will now be rotating visitation duty." The Master shot a suspicious look at Canderous over her carefully folded hands. "We want to make sure that nothing interferes with the upcoming Senate vote, including anything your overprotective Mandalorian thug might do or your own typically indiscreet behavior."

The constraints in the Temple had given Min a more or less permanent annoyed expression lately, but now she looked royally pissed off. "You let me run loose for over a year. I've even played by the Council's rules for the last four months, and _now_ you and Vrook decide to play games like this?"

"You can spend your half-hour arguing with me if you wish," the Master said as she sat down on one of the smooth decorative boulders and arranged her long white robes. "But you should save your breath. I am not going to change my mind."

The Jedi Master pulled out a datapad and stylus and got busy ignoring Min, who glared down at her for a moment longer before walking over and sitting next to Canderous on the bench. She closed her eyes, rubbed the bridge of her nose, and muttered, "I don't know how much more of this I can take."

Canderous turned his glare from the Jedi Master to her. She'd lost weight and they made her wear the plainest, brownest robes they could find—probably just to irritate her—and she was still the sexiest woman he'd ever seen. Which mostly just pissed him off more.

"You're the one who went into Jedi custody willingly," he griped. They could have taken off; he knew dozens of places where they could avoid the Jedi and the Republic. Instead they sat in a fracking garden in the Temple. Once a week. Being stared at by crotchety Jedi Masters.

Min dropped her hands in her lap and turned to look at him. "And you're the one who once gave me a lecture about running and hiding like a coward."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "I meant from people who matter," he growled. He sneered as he glanced around at the trees and the overflowing flowerbeds and the fracking _fountains_. Fracking waste of perfectly good water. "They couldn't hold you if you didn't want to stay. So they don't deserve to keep you."

"What was I supposed to do? Let Bastila come back and face the Council alone? Take off and leave the Council to explain to the Senate what happened to me?" Dark curls bobbed as she shook her head. "I may not respect the Jedi very much, but I was raised here. I got a second chance because of them," she said as she glared over at the white-haired Master. "And they're not all schuttas like her."

Canderous matched her glare. "Next time I'm bringing my gun," he grumbled.

She turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "You mean you don't have one stashed on you right now? I'm disappointed."

"I've got a holdout blaster, but that barely counts."

Min leaned against him, resting her cheek against the Clan tattoo on his shoulder. "The last time you brought your repeater, I thought those Knights on guard duty were going to pass out. The chaos you managed to create was impressive. The lectures I got afterward, not quite so much fun."

He shrugged his other shoulder. "They need someone to keep them on their toes. They get lazy sitting around all day. Meditating, my ass."

She gestured to the Jedi Master scowling over the datapad. "Looks like mission accomplished. If you think Atris is bad, just wait until it's Vrook sitting over there. At least the Senate vote is soon. It will be a relief to have this over one way or another."

"Yeah," Canderous grunted. "We walk out of here or we run out."

Worry creased the lines around her dark eyes when she moved back to look up at him. "I know that you have a plan. I also know that there's no way to talk you out of it," Min murmured. "Just please be careful. If anything happened to you... I..." She swallowed hard. "It wouldn't be pretty."

He wrapped an arm around her waist. "Someday you're going to learn to trust me."

"If I didn't trust you, you wouldn't be sitting here."

"Maybe, but you always think I'm going to get killed." He shook his head. "You couldn't do it. Malak couldn't do it. What makes you think a few random Jedi can do the job?"

"I'm not questioning your ability. You're the strongest, most capable man I know." She placed her hand over the scar on his chest, the one that he'd gotten when he'd detonated the grenade before their capture by the _Leviathan_. "But I also know how far you'd go to protect me. You wouldn't think twice about dying if it meant saving me. So don't tell me not to worry."

"Stop making me save you and it won't be a problem," he growled.

Min pulled away, crossing her arms under her breasts. "I'm not making you do anything, and I'm damn sure I didn't ask you to save me."

Canderous rubbed his hands over his face and swore under his breath. "We're back to this again? If you were any other woman, I'd start to wonder if you were worth the trouble."

"No, we're not back to that. I haven't tried to stop whatever plan you have to get me out of here. I haven't told you that I won't go with you. I haven't even tried to talk you out of it." She jabbed a finger into his chest. "But you don't get to tell me how to feel. And if you have a problem with me worrying about you, then the path out of the Temple is that way because that's not going to change. Ever."

"And what's the point of it, huh?" he snapped. He'd watched the crew of the _Ebon Hawk_ during the mission, watched them brood and bitch and let things they couldn't change eat at them. It baffled him. "If you trust in my skill, then trust in my victory."

Amusement softened the tightness around her lips. "There's no point. It just is. So you're just going have to suck it up. Which is only fair, considering that's what I have to do with the overprotective banthashit that you and my grandfather insist on dishing out."

Canderous shook his head at the irony of _her_ calling _him_ overprotective. "We're just trying to make up for the fact that you won't protect yourself," he groused.

"Of course that would be the only thing you two agree about." Min let out an exasperated sigh. "I was hoping the two of you would get along, but I got a comm message this morning that was all about you. What the hell did you say to him to get him riled up so much?"

"What the hell did you say to him that made him think you were fracking Onasi?" he countered.

"That's just Grandfather's wishful thinking. He's been wanting me to bring home a man like Onasi since I reached the age of majority." She frowned. "But what I want to know is why he thinks you and I are married."

Canderous shrugged. "Because I told him we were." He narrowed his eyes. "And what the hell does 'a man like Onasi' mean? Whiny?"

Min blinked and held up her hand. She bit the words out slowly. "Wait. You told him we were married? Why would you do that?"

He crossed his arms over his chest. "He questioned my intentions. He needed to understand the situation."

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. She sputtered for a few seconds before yelling loud enough to catch the attention of the Master at the other end of the garden, "_I_ need to understand the situation. Explain to _me_ how we can be married. There wasn't a ceremony, so when did this happen?"

"I thought 'until the end' was fairly self-explanatory." Leaning back against the tree, he settled in for the inevitable explosion. It was going to happen eventually, and the Jedi Temple was as good a place as any. If they couldn't have sex, fighting was a halfway decent second choice.

Min didn't disappoint. She shot to her feet, and for a second, from the furious look on her face, it looked like she might stalk out of the meditation garden. But instead she looked down at him and said, "You mean in the cargo bay, by the fire when we–" He could see the deep flush on her cheeks even under her brown skin. "How was I supposed to know that was a Mandalorian marriage pledge?"

"You weren't." He waved a hand at her. "I told you, your grandfather was questioning _my_ intentions. So I told him what I intend. You can do what you want."

"Well, that's very convenient," she snarled as she leaned down until her face was just inches from his. "Because what _I _want to do, more than anything, is kick your ass for not telling me!"

He smirked up at her. "Is that right?" he drawled.

One second her hand was curling into a fist. The next, he was sprawled on the grass behind the bench, and she was glaring down at him. "You must be the most arrogant man in the whole damn galaxy."

He sat up, rubbing his throbbing jaw, gratified she hadn't held back. "So you don't want to be married?"

Behind her he could see the Jedi Master barking orders through her comm, while the guard clutched his lightsaber and watched Revan like her eyes were going to start glowing yellow at any second.

But Min was focused only on Canderous. She crossed her arms and glared down at him. "That depends, Ordo. Are you going to grow a pair and tell me what you want next time? Because if have to learn any more of your _intentions_ from my grandfather, we're going to have a big fracking problem."

Canderous pushed himself to his feet and mirrored her posture, crossing his arms over his chest. "Fine. I also want children."

Her scowl evaporated into astonishment as her dark eyes went wide. It took her a few seconds to recover and ask, "Anything else?"

"We're not living on Coruscant." His gesture encompassed all the useless plants and statues and other crap that filled the Temple to the rafters. "When all this is over with, we're getting off this overdeveloped rock."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

He shrugged. "For now."

Min studied him for one long, quiet minute where the only sounds were crunching footsteps and shouts of Jedi reinforcements coming their way. Finally she said softly, "It never occurred to me that I could have a husband and children."

He wondered how long it would take before she stopped thinking like a Jedi. He supposed decades of swallowing the shit they shoveled had to leave an impact on anybody. Even Revan. "And now that it has?" He took a step toward her. "What are you going to do about it?" he challenged.

Her gaze finally flickered to the approaching Jedi and a slow smile spread across her lips as she echoed his words from months before. "I'm going to fight, defend, and do whatever it takes to keep what's mine." She looked back at him. "Even if what's mine is an arrogant, boneheaded pain in the ass."

Canderous grinned as he closed the distance between them. He grabbed her robes and pressed his lips to hers, ignoring the witnesses around them until he felt one of the Jedi put a hand on her shoulder. He pulled back to glare at the man. "Get your hands off her," he growled.

The Jedi turned a pasty shade of white, dropped his hand, and took a step back. Min's brows lifted as she saw the number of Jedi that filled the garden. It looked like the Jedi Master had called nearly every damn Knight within running distance.

"Don't you think this is overkill, Atris?" Min asked.

Atris's hand slashed through the air. "This visit is over."

Min didn't move out of his arms; she just nodded to the Atris's wrist chrono and drawled, "Our time's not up."

"I'm not going to stand by and allow this to continue. Inappropriate displays of emotion, uncontrolled acts of violence, secret marriages. What next, Revan?"

"Well, I was planning on making out with him until you interrupted with half of the enclave."

"How can you be so cavalier? You know how dangerous this is. You gave into your anger and punched him!"

Min shrugged. "He had it coming."

"I'm not complaining," Canderous added. "So mind your own damn business." He pulled her to him again and went back to what they'd been doing. The shocked silence actually allowed a few uninterrupted moments for once.

But Atris wasn't silent for long. "You should be more careful, Mandalorian. The last lover she had didn't get off with just a bruised jaw."

Canderous felt Min tense up under his hands. He shot the Jedi Master another glare. "I can take care of myself. And you're killing the mood, Jedi."

Atris fixed her glare on Revan. "This is the Jedi Temple. This type of behavior doesn't belong here."

"You're right," Min said. "We shouldn't be doing this here. We should be doing this in my quarters." She pulled back and looked up at Canderous. "So let's go there."

Canderous grinned again. "Lead the way."

Atris gestured and a handful of Knights stepped forward, hands on their lightsaber hilts. "The Mandalorian leaves now."

"No, I don't think so," Min said. "I'm out of patience. If you toss him out, I'm leaving too, and then you and Vrook can explain to the Senate how Revan disappeared under your watch." She nodded to the Knights behind Atris. "Unless you plan on using those lightsabers to keep me in here."

Atris just blinked as though Min had punched her in the jaw too.

"No?" Min said. "Okay then." She started making her way through the crowd of shocked Jedi.

Canderous grinned wider as he followed. "If you hurry you can probably get a good spot in front of the security monitors," he shot back over his shoulder.

Min walked out of the garden, leaving the confused Knights looking to the fuming Jedi Master who had summoned them. She didn't look back until they rounded a corner and were out of sight. "Well, that was damn satisfying."

He grabbed her robes again, this time not stopping until he found an opening. "I can think of a few other things that would be damn satisfying."

"Me too," she murmured, her breath hitching at his touch. "We should get to my quarters. Atris is rallying the troops, but the door, the lock, and HK-47 should keep the Jedi Council and their lectures at bay for a while."

His hands had already found warm skin. "Or we could blast our way out. Especially if you've got the droid."

"I don't want it to come to that, but if they won't listen... we'll do what we have to then."

"Damn straight," he muttered against her neck. "How much time do we have?"

Her nails bit his skin, even through his shirt. "An hour or so. There's going to be a lot of discussion before they actually come to the decision to disable HK and override the lock on the door. But we've gotten Bastila's attention. She's on her way."

"Tell her we're busy."

Min shook her head, her soft curls brushing his bruised jaw. "The minute I open the bond enough to talk to her, the non-stop questions and lecture will begin." Her long fingers slid over his shirt and down his chest, then hooked his belt. "She'll get the idea shortly. Trust me."

He grunted. "How far to your quarters? Because if she gets there first, she's going to get one hell of an education."

She tugged him toward an arch at the other end of the courtyard. "Not far. Just through the arch, down the corridor three doors."

He let her pull him deeper into the Temple, both of them tense and listening for the sound of anyone following. Neither of them relaxed until they were behind the locked door of her quarters with HK pacing the hallway. Then Canderous grabbed her wrists and pressed them behind her against the closed door.

"What do you want, Revan?"

She jerked her chin up. "I want you. I want children. I want us to teach them how to be strong and honorable and smart. I want a place where we can keep them safe until they can protect themselves."

"Anything else?"

Min's dark eyes went hazy. "I want my husband to rip these damned robes off me."

He leaned in closer, pinning her against the door. "Is that all?" he growled.

She smirked up at him. "For now."

He freed her hands so he could comply with her wishes. Sometimes in marriage you had to compromise.


	3. Parlay

_**Chapter 3 - Parlay**_

If there was one thing that Minuet Avery Revan had learned, it was that the Force never led her to luxurious resorts. True to form, this time the Force had led her to an alleyway deep in the sublevels of Coruscant that stank like piss and juma.

She screwed her face into a grimace and picked her way around piles of litter and a truly terrifying puddle of unidentifiable goo, telling herself that she should be grateful that she was free at all. The Senate vote a few days before had granted her freedom, more or less, by a mere six votes. It had been a huge relief, not particularly because she thought she deserved her freedom, but because she'd been worried about what Canderous would have done had the vote gone the other way. He'd had a plan, of that there was no doubt, and Min suspected that it had something to do with the man she'd come here to meet.

When she reached the end of the dark corridor, she paused under the blinking light that illuminated a grimy durasteel door. She took one last look down the alley, making sure that she'd lost both her Republic and Jedi watchdogs, before stepping through.

At this early hour, the cantina was nearly empty. Just a Duros bartender polishing some glasses and a few desperate-looking patrons so intent on nursing their drinks that they didn't even look up as she entered. The man she'd come to see was sitting with his back to the wall in one of the dark corners. He could have been just another Mandalorian merc, but his vague resemblance to Canderous told her that this was the man who had asked for the meeting.

Min studied him from underneath the hood of her cloak as she approached. She paused at the table and did a quick sweep of the area with her Jedi senses before saying, "You must be Xarga."

"And you're Revan," the man replied. His voice was a low rumble; he sounded almost bored. Thick fingers circled the glass in front of him, and he drained it in one swallow before appraising her with narrowed eyes. His eyes were darker than Canderous's, more brown than gray, but the shape was the same. "You look taller on the vids."

Min took a seat across the table from him, pushed her hood back until it fell on her slim shoulders, and arched an eyebrow. "Any other observations you'd like to share before you tell me why you asked for this meeting?"

"Yeah." Xarga leaned back in his chair but left his hands, palms down, fingers splayed, on the tabletop. Min wondered if that meant he had a weapon, one that he was showing her he wasn't pulling. She returned the favor by keeping her hands where he could see them, attempting to play nice with a man who had been a big part of Canderous's past and would most likely be a part of his future too. At least until he said, "You're too skinny. Don't Jedi eat?"

Now that one stung. Between falling apart after their escape from the _Leviathan_, worrying about what Canderous might do to break her out if the Senate vote went bad, and her antagonistic dealings with the Jedi Council, she'd dropped a significant amount of weight from her already slender body.

While she tried not to let her wounded vanity show, her chin jerked up. "What can I say? Jedi don't get much chance to put on weight, what with saving the galaxy and all."

"Right." His expression didn't change, but he crossed his arms over his chest. His shoulders were nearly as broad as Canderous's, but standing he'd be shorter, stockier. His face was wider too, with a nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. "Did I forget to thank you?"

She held her hand up in a mock conciliatory gesture. "Please. A thank you is not necessary, but a drink would be nice."

Xarga snorted, then nodded toward the bar. "So go. I'll wait."

Min turned and spoke to the Duros in his native tongue, and after a few moments of rooting around the scarred and dingy bar, he brought her a bottle of fire whiskey and a glass. She handed him a credit chit that more than covered the cost of anything she might decide to drink in this hole and sent him on his way.

After she poured herself a liberal glass, which she figured she was going to need the way this conversation was already going, she asked, "Why did you want to see me?"

Xarga eyed the glass with an expression of amused doubt. "You know why I'm here?" From his tone it was clear he didn't just mean the bar.

Min toyed with the glass tumbler, rubbing her thumb along the edge. "Canderous told me you contacted him a couple of weeks after the Star Forge. My guess is that he roped you and the rest of your Clan into helping him out if the Senate vote went bad. And the reason you're still here is because you want to bring your Clan Chief home. Is that about right?"

"It was the first time I'd talked to him since the end of the war," Xarga said. "Did he tell you that?"

"No. But I'm not surprised. He seemed completely cut off from his Clan when I first met him."

Xarga's thick eyebrows came down low over his eyes as he leaned forward again. "I'll give you three guesses as to why that was."

They stared at each other across the table until she said, "You blame me."

"You bet your ass I do." His forefinger stabbed the stained surface of the table between them. "You told us to destroy our ships and armor, to scatter. Canderous took that as an oath. He said to keep our honor we had to give up living as warriors." He shook his head. "As if that wasn't the stupidest, most thick-headed contradiction I ever heard."

Min lifted the glass to her lips and took a long swallow. The burn slid from her lips, down her throat, and into her belly. It matched the anger that simmered underneath.

She set the empty glass between them with a soft click before meeting his eyes once again. "If you're looking for an apology or guilt or regret from me, you're in for a hell of a disappointment. _You_ picked a fight with us. _You_ lost." She crossed her arms. "So don't get pissed at me because _you_ gave up on your Clansman."

"If you think you're going to turn around and judge _me_, save it," Xarga said. He raised an eyebrow. "Unless you can honestly say that in all the time you've traveled together you've managed to talk Canderous out of something even once."

"Just once, when I made him swear not to go after Malak and to stand by and let me take my apprentice down." There was a part of her that still didn't quite believe that he'd agreed to it. "I will admit, he is the most stubborn, boneheaded, and relentless bastard I have ever met, but you're his Clan, and I thought that was supposed to mean something."

He stared at her with an intensity just short of a glare. "You want to believe I was the one abandoning my Clan? Fine. But I was Canderous's right hand from the time we were kids until the moment Mandalore slid off your blade. He respected me, listened to me. Except when it came to you. He was obsessed with you right from the beginning. Even when we thought you were a man."

His chair creaked as he leaned back again. A few of the drunks looked up but quickly went back to their drinks, either because of his expression or her lightsabers. "So what I want to know is what you're going to do to him this time."

"You mean now that I've gotten him away from a core slime like Davik and given him honorable battles and worthy enemies to fight?" She rested her elbows on the table and studied him over clasped hands. "Look, if I wanted to use him as a pawn, I had that chance on the Star Forge. He would have done anything for me, including throwing away his honor and killing our companions so that I could take my army back. All I had to do was say the word."

"Why didn't you?" More than worry colored the question; Min guessed the idea of walking away from an unstoppable army was a foreign one to most Mandalorians.

"Because I would have ended up destroying both of us. Canderous thinks he can handle me if I fall to the Dark Side. That he'd succeed where Malak failed because Malak was weak. He's wrong. He doesn't understand because he's never met Darth Revan."

Min poured herself another drink. "You must know that some of Canderous's best qualities—his honor, his loyalty, his pride—are also his biggest blind spots. I would have used those to manipulate him, tear him down, and destroy him. Just like I did with Malak. And I'll be damned before I do that to another man who loves me."

"You're his biggest blind spot, you know that?" Xarga sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "And now he says you two took vows?"

Min couldn't keep the chagrin out of her voice. "Yes. Although you probably found out we were bound before I did. He can be a sneaky bastard when he wants to be."

Xarga snorted. "You don't know the half of it. We were two years from earning our Clan marks when we snuck into our first battle. We broke into the maintenance bay every night for two weeks to fix up an old junked Basilisk. The chief mechanic didn't even know the thing was running until we blasted out the cargo bay doors." A wry grin broke across his broad face. "I'm not sure which of you to feel more sorry for."

It sounded so similar to the trouble she and Malak used to get into that all she could do was shake her head. "A friend of mine once told me that Canderous and I deserve each other because we're both pains in the ass. I think he's probably right." She paused and chewed her lip, her belly churning a bit at the next thought. "Perhaps having children of our own is not such a hot idea. They're going to be complete hellions, aren't they?"

"Hell yes," Xarga laughed. "I'll make sure of it. I owe Canderous for all the trouble he got my boys into."

She couldn't help but smile at the mental picture. "You have sons?"

"Had. Until Malachor." Brown eyes regarded her closely as if gauging her reaction. "So how about you buy me a drink sometime?"

For a second Min couldn't do anything but blink. It was one of those rare times when she couldn't think of anything to say. An apology was out of the question because it would have been a complete and utter lie. So instead she gestured toward the bottle of fire whiskey sitting on the table between them and said, "By all means, help yourself."

He reached out and snagged the bottle, then poured a generous measure into his empty glass. After he drained it, he rolled it back and forth between his large hands. "Did you know what would happen when you gave that order?"

"Yes. That's why I used my best general as bait to lure you there." She stared down into her glass as the memories that she wished she could forget again washed over her. "Even then I must have decided to conquer the Republic because the troops I sent to Malachor were the ones I knew wouldn't follow me once I left. Take out two enemies with one press of a button." She closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose and muttered, "Frack."

Xarga grunted. "We were the only command ship to make it out. And that was only because Canderous was unconscious in the medbay. I saw a chance to keep one Clan Chief alive and I took it." He leaned toward her again, a hint of his earlier grin returning. "Better luck next time."

She spoke over the rim of her glass before taking another swallow. The words were reflexive—the culmination of a lifetime of Jedi lectures and training, most of which she still couldn't remember. "There is no such thing as luck. There is only the Force."

"Banthashit." He turned his head and spat on the floor of the bar. "I know who's in control of my destiny. I've done my fair share of steering Canderous's too, and I'll tell you right now it's a thankless job." He looked her up and down again, his mouth turning down as if he was disappointed she hadn't put on weight while they were talking. "He should be Mandalore."

Min's brown fingers tightened around her glass. "Oh, he should, should he? And why's that? So your people can stir more shit up?" Her anger made her voice rise. "Frack me, haven't you lost enough already?"

Xarga's brow twisted in what seemed to be genuine confusion. "What exactly did you think was going to happen now? You thought Canderous would hold your makeup bag while you sashay around the upper levels?"

"I thought we were going to have a family and rebuild your Clan, not declare Canderous Mandalore so you can take what's left of your people and go raiding." She slammed her glass down on the table; the remaining liquid sloshed over the side and onto her knuckles. "What's your plan, Xarga? Take out some farm settlements, like those assholes we found on Dantooine and Tatooine? Strap on some stealth generators and hunt some Wookiees? Pick fights until the Jedi decide to come and kick your ass, _again_?" Dark curls bobbed as she shook her head. "Dammit, I thought you people would be smart enough to rebuild for at least a generation or two."

He gaped at her, brow low, mouth wide. "You think Mandalore is just a raid leader." A long string of Mandalorian obscenities poured from his lips as he wiped his hand over his face again. "We _can't_ rebuild without Mandalore. Without Mandalore..." His eyes narrowed as he looked her over again. "Without a _proper_ Mandalore, there are no Clans. Right now I have no people. And neither does Canderous. We're..."

He fumbled for words, his hands spread as he scowled. "If he really was knocking skulls for some two-credit thug on Taris..." He trailed off with a growl as he thrust his face toward her over the table. "Maybe you're too thick to see it, but he's walking around with something missing here." He thumped himself on the chest. "Something important. We all are."

"I know he is, but what you're asking–" She cut herself off and glared across the table at him. "If I help you do this, if I help make him Mandalore, and then twenty or thirty years from now the Mandalorians are back on the Republic's doorstep, everything I've done, everything I lost and everyone I sacrificed in that war will mean _nothing_."

"So find us another enemy. A worthwhile enemy." He threw his arms out as if enemies would rain down from the ceiling. "You won't have any rank within the Clan, but you'll sure as hell have pull."

She sat in silence for awhile, seconds stretched into one minute and then two punctuated by occasional clink of bottle against glass, until her chair creaked as she shifted and met his gaze.

"It's only a matter of time, isn't it? If he doesn't become Mandalore, someone else is going to try."

Someone she'd have no influence with, who wouldn't give a damn about her ties to the Republic. Someone who might take try to take revenge against her and any children she had. Someone who could force Canderous to choose between loyalty to her and loyalty to his Clan.

"They're going to try to kill you, that's what they're going to try." Xarga frowned. "And guess who'll put himself in their way."

"I'm Revan," she said. "A lot of people are going to try to kill me now that they know I'm alive. Not just ambitious Mandalorians." She picked up her glass and sighed. "He's going to be fighting them either way, whether he becomes Mandalore or not."

"Every Mandalorian will fight to the death alongside a strong Mandalore. If he proves himself worthy, then the Clans will stand behind him. Even to defend you if that's what he wants. As for threats from within..." Xarga shrugged. "There are rules about who can challenge Mandalore and how. Straight-up fights and honor duels don't worry me."

"I don't need your Clan to protect me." She paused before conceding with a sigh, "But any children we have, they're going to need as much protection as we can give them."

"They'll get protection, but they won't get coddled." Xarga pointed at her with an accusatory finger, as if she'd already asked for special treatment for children that weren't even conceived yet. "When it comes time for training and fighting, they'll do it. They'll have obligations to their Clan."

"They won't be only Mandalorian. They'll have obligations that go _beyond_ Clan, including training for the Force abilities they'll inherit from me." Of that, Min had no doubt. The Force was strong in her family, going back several generations at least. "Will your people really be able to accept a Mandalore who married the enemy? Will they be able to accept our Force sensitive children? Or is this just wishful thinking because you want him back so damn badly?"

Xarga's jaw clenched. "I want him back because he's all we've got. They'll accept him or they'll wander until there's nothing left."

She wanted to shoot to her feet, tell Xarga to go to hell, and storm out the door. What kept her rooted to her seat, what made it impossible to dismiss this as not her problem, were the stories Canderous had told her on the _Ebon Hawk_. The way he would talk about his past with a mixture of pride and grief that exposed a wound so deep that she knew it would never heal if his people dwindled away.

"Dammit." Min gulped down the rest of the glass to fortify herself and said, "All right, if this is the only way he can have his people back, if this is what will make him whole, if this is how we can have a family, then tell me what you need me to do."

"I'll take care of the challenges we need to make. You just be ready to bring him Mandalore's helm." His eyes narrowed. "You have the helm, right? 'Cause if you don't, we're all fracked."

"No. The Jedi have it in the Temple archive." She paused and added, "Probably."

"_Probably_ the Jedi have it," he repeated. He looked like he couldn't decide whether to overturn the table or get sick on it.

Min held out a hand to shut him up and stop him from lunging across the table to kick her ass and said, "Hold on a second."

She pulled a comm out of the folds of her ivory robes. "Tee, I need you to check the Jedi archive records for something." Tee let out a series of protesting beeps, until Min quieted the droid down and gave it the specifics of what she was looking for. She added, "And cover your tracks, okay? I don't want Atris to know that we're looking for it."

Min settled in to wait. She knew that it wouldn't take the little astromech droid long. She arched an eyebrow at the Mandalorian stewing across the table. "What did you think? That it would be in the makeup bag Canderous holds when I sashay around the upper levels?"

"I didn't think it would be with the Jedi," he grumbled. "Didn't you leave them to take us on?"

"That was the point of sending it back. To show them I'd won despite their cowering banthashit. Although if my best general hadn't been planning on going back to face the Council, I would have had the helm melted down in front of your troops instead."

Xarga's rough-hewn face tinged green at the words "melted down." "Lucky us then," he muttered.

The comm in her hand beeped. "I told you, there's no such thing as luck."

A few seconds later Tee's excited chirping confirmed what Min had already guessed—that Atris's love of history and flat-out anal necessity to catalog, file, categorize, and organize the galaxy had won out over the fury the historian must have felt at the insult of having the helm tossed at her feet.

A wave of anxiety slammed into her senses, and Min took pity on the Mandalorian across from her, fished a datapad out from her satchel, and connected it to the comm so the information could scroll across the screen.

"There you go." She pushed the datapad across the table. "Catalog number, location, condition, and security codes to get it out. There's even a holo. Thanks, Tee."

The droid whistled back and cut the comm.

Xarga's hands and eyes were glued to the datapad. "Get it. The challenges will mean more if we've got it."

She nodded but asked, "Why is it so important? This can't be the first time Mandalore's helm has been lost to an enemy."

He glanced up at her. "Yeah, and we've always gotten it back. How would it look if Canderous couldn't do what's always been done?"

"I don't think it's going to look much better when they discover he got it from his wife. And it's not just the way it looks to the Mandalorians that we have to worry about. This whole thing is going to stir up the Republic military and the Jedi Council, unless we handle it right."

He tossed the datapad across the table to her and she shoved it back into her satchel. "So don't tell them."

"Do you really think we're going to be able to keep this quiet for long? If they find out from someone who isn't me, they're going to jump to the wrong conclusion and think I'm building another invading army."

She raked a brown hand through her black curls. "Besides, I'm not going to lie to my friends. Carth and Bastila deserve to know, and they can decide whom to tell in the Republic military and Jedi Council."

Xarga grunted. "You're picking an annoying time to finally show some loyalty."

"And you're being damn petulant for someone who's getting everything he wants from a woman who was once his sworn enemy."

"Petulant, huh?" Xarga snorted and shook his head. "You're going to be a pain in my ass, aren't you?"

One side of her mouth curved upward. "Definitely. But right now, I'm not the one you have to worry about. Canderous doesn't know you're talking to me or about your plan to make him Mandalore, does he?"

He grabbed the whiskey bottle off the table and filled his glass again. "Try to point out Canderous's blind spots, and he'll shut his eyes and call you an asshole."

"Or tell you to shove your overprotective banthashit up your ass," she muttered.

Xarga nodded. "He lives the code of Mandalore like no other warrior I've known. It's why I follow him. And it's why we have to watch his back." He pointed a finger at her around his glass. "He fights every enemy head on, and he expects everyone else to do the same. But you and I both know that's not how the galaxy works."

She nodded. "Then you and I will just have to do whatever it takes to make sure that when it comes time for him to fight, the playing field is level and his back is covered whether he wants us to or not." She couldn't keep the bittersweet pride out of her voice. "He's going to make a damn fine Mandalore."

"He sure as hell better." Xarga took a long swallow of whiskey. "I've put up with a lot of shit over the years."

"There's going to be a lot more shit incoming once he realizes that we've just planned his future for him. Do you have a plan for telling him?"

Xarga snorted. "I asked him the same thing when he said you were married and you didn't know it." His broad shoulders rose and fell in a careless shrug. "I've been planning Canderous's future since we were thirteen years old. The Weaponsmaster of our Clan told me that was my future. And if you think Canderous is stubborn, you never met his father."

Her brow furrowed; it was difficult to imagine someone even more hardheaded than her husband. She shook her head. "Forty years? It must've really frosted your ass then to find out that he bound himself to Revan. I'm guessing I didn't quite fit into your plan."

"I thought I was safely past worrying about who he was going to end up with. So thanks for that heart attack." He mock-saluted her with his glass before setting it back on the table. "I'm more surprised he fit into your plan. He doesn't seem your type."

Xarga wasn't the first to make that statement; Min had even thought it herself before she knew her real identity, but still it was irksome.

"What exactly do you think my type is?" She held up a manicured hand. "Wait, let me guess. A shallow piece of eye candy who will look good as we sashay around the upper levels together?"

"I more meant someone dumber than you." He raised an eyebrow. "I never got the impression Revan liked people questioning her orders."

"Darth Revan doesn't." The old despair and grief and guilt churned at her gut, but she swallowed it down and focused on the present. "But I'm not a Sith anymore, and I'm not interested in men who would follow me blindly and without question. I want someone who is smart and tough and strong enough to challenge me and call me on my banthashit."

"And you picked Canderous." Xarga scratched at his balding scalp with both hands as he laughed. "That's like using a Basilisk droid to kill a cannock."

White teeth flashed against dark skin as she grinned. "Oh, you're underestimating what a pain in the ass I can be. But that's not the only reason. It's hard not to be impressed by a man who blows himself up to save you and your crew."

Xarga muttered a curse under his breath. "I always knew Canderous in love would be trouble. Dramatic son of a bitch, isn't he?"

"Canderous doesn't do anything halfway." She picked up and toyed with her empty glass for a few seconds before setting it back down and meeting Xarga's gaze. "When he and I first met, I didn't understand Canderous at all. He told me about his Clan, your way of life, the code of the Mandalore, but I didn't know what all of that really _meant_ until he took that grenade for me. And when he did, well..." She sighed. "How could I not love a man who lives his honor and loyalty like that?"

Xarga's gaze shifted from her face to a point over her shoulder. "One grenade. That's all it took, huh?"

Min opened her mouth to answer, but a rumbling voice cut her off from behind. "You make it sound like it was easy."

Xarga snorted. "Remember what I went through before I was bound to Sheyla? One grenade _is_ easy."

Min could feel her cheeks flush, and she was very grateful that her brown skin would hide most of her chagrin. The knowledge that it was her own damn fault for not paying more attention to her Jedi senses wasn't particularly helpful.

"The grenade was just the beginning. He must not have told you what I put him through after that. But that story will have to wait, I think."

Canderous looked at Xarga and then back at her, his arms crossed over his chest. "Is that what you're doing? Telling stories?"

"I had to make sure she understood just how huge a mistake she's made," Xarga replied.

Min's gaze flickered back and forth between the two men. "I'm afraid it's a hopeless case, Xarga. I seem to have a weakness for stubborn, boneheaded, pain in the ass Mandalorians."

"That's pretty much all that's left of our Clan," Xarga said, scratching the stubble under his jaw. "Bastards who were too stubborn to die."

"For now." Min turned back to Canderous and studied her husband. Even the dim, dingy light of the bar couldn't hide the stubborn set of his shoulders, the intelligence in his eyes, or the proud line of his jaw. "But not for long, I think."

Once Canderous put on that helm, once he started acting like the leader his people desperately needed, the leader that she knew he could be, he would draw his people to him and there would be no going back. She knew that for a fact because she'd done it twice herself.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, pushed her chair back, and stood. "I should get back to the Temple. Both the Jedi and the Republic are going to be raising the alarms if I don't return soon. They're probably already pissed that I ditched their agents who followed me."

"Thanks for the drink." Xarga raised his glass, offering an amused smirk in exchange for Canderous's glare.

She laughed and said, "Next time, drinks are on you."

Min felt her husband's presence following her out of the bar, though he didn't say a word until they were back on the exterior walkway.

"What the hell was that about?" he muttered. His eyes were constantly scanning the crowds around them, watching for any threat. Strangely it made him seem more relaxed than when he walked through the upper levels sneering at Senators and business managers.

They turned the corner and headed toward one of the lifts that would take them back to the upper levels. "Xarga wanted to size me up and make sure I wasn't using you, among other things." Min paused as she debated telling him about Xarga's plan to make him Mandalore before deciding that a public walkway would not be the best place for the fight that was sure to follow. Besides, there wouldn't be much point anyway until she retrieved the helm from the Jedi archives. "A lot of it was that overprotective banthashit you hate so much."

Canderous scowled as he punched the lift call button. "Get used to it. He's worse than a Clanmother. I'd forgotten that or I wouldn't have taken his comm."

"I can see how that would be. He told me I was too skinny, demanded to know what my intentions were, and had some pretty specific ideas about how we should raise our still hypothetical children." Children that were going to stay hypothetical until they could find a place to raise them.

A whirring clank signaled the lift's arrival. "Feel free to kick his ass. I intend to."

The lift was already empty so she stepped aboard. A pair of Twi'leks started to follow them, but stopped in their tracks when both Min and Canderous glared at them. The doors slid shut, leaving the two of them alone—at least for the several-minute ride up to the topmost levels.

"Don't kick his ass too hard," she said. "I think I like him."

Canderous leaned back against the transparent lift wall and pulled a pack of cigarras from his pocket. He lit one and glared at the comm as a tinny voice chimed, "There is no smoking on the public lift."

"He's a nosy pain in the ass who likes to tell people what to do," he said to Min. "Of course you like him."

She stood next to him facing the window and placed her palms on the duraglass. The lower levels dropped away as the lift rose, treating her to a view of the cavern between Coruscant's skyscrapers and the air traffic that flowed between the enormous structures.

She smirked. "That must explain why I like you too."

He shrugged, blowing a stream of smoke at the ceiling. "You're the expert."

"True. But then I'm a Jedi, so I learned meddling from the best." Her smile faded as she grew thoughtful. "Although I suppose I won't be a Jedi anymore once we leave." It was nearly overwhelming to think that in just a few more days, everything in her life was going to be turned completely upside-down _again_.

Sometimes she forgot how massive and solid he was until he looked down at her, still and looming. "Second thoughts, Revan?"

Min was quiet as she thought about the people she was leaving behind—the grandfather who'd made her, the Jedi who'd shaped her, the friends who had carried her through the darkest time in her life—and there was a part of her that grieved. She thought about what she was risking by agreeing to help make Canderous Mandalore, and there was a part of her that was terrified of what she was setting into motion.

But they were both getting a second chance, to have a real life and to build something instead of destroy it, and she would be damned if they didn't take it.

So Min placed her hand over his heart, where she could feel the bumps and ridges of his newest scar and said simply, "Nope. You?"

He took a last pull of his cigarra, then flicked the butt to the far corner of the lift. A possessive arm curled around her waist. "I've been waiting to show those hypocritical bastards our taillights since we landed on this rock."

She looked up at her husband, who in his own surly, overprotective, and pain in the ass way had shown more patience than she'd ever thought him capable of during the past several months. "But you stayed for me." She reached up and brushed her thumb across the line of his jaw. "Thank you for that, and for everything else that you've done."

"You owe me," he rumbled, but the arm around her tightened. She'd caught a glimpse of him at the final Senate hearing, leaning against the back wall of the cavernous chamber just to the side of the door they'd hustled her through. She had no doubt that if the vote had gone against her, he'd have been at her side before they'd finished announcing the verdict. Probably heavily armed.

She grinned up at him. "Whatever. Your life would be completely boring without me in it, Ordo. So the way I figure it, you're the one who owes me."

He snorted. "You plan to collect?" His voice pitched low, low enough for her to feel it vibrating out from his chest. It had the typical effect of igniting the delicious ache that turned everything hot and hazy.

"Every night," she murmured as she pulled him down. "So wherever we're going better have a decent bed."

He only laughed before he kissed her, which all things considered was probably a bad sign. Min wasn't surprised since the Force had a habit of sending her to decent beds as often as it sent her to luxurious resorts. She kissed him back anyway, her few wistful regrets tempered by her stronger hope for the chance they'd been given and what their future might bring.


	4. Course Correction

A/N: It's been awhile since we've updated this fic, but that doesn't mean we haven't been writing. The whole story is finished and now we're polishing it up. The remaining chapters will be posted and published within the next week or two.

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_Chapter 4 – Course Correction_

Xarga's ship was a rusted-out piece of shit. Not surprising, really, considering its hangar was probably a pile of wet leaves on Dxun. Canderous had made sure Xarga never described the camp in front of Min. If he had, she'd probably have clung to the doorframe of her grandfather's penthouse by her painted red fingernails. As it was, she kept throwing glances at Xarga from the co-pilot's seat like she wasn't sure the heap was actually spaceworthy.

"What's our travel time?" Canderous asked as he leaned over her chair. Not like she was actually doing anything to fly the thing. Good thing too. There was a reason Onasi had the Jedi Princess co-pilot the _Ebon Hawk_ instead, and it wasn't just because of her impressive rack.

Xarga punched up a navigational relay, then scratched at the stubble under his chin. "Twenty-three hours. Give or take."

"To Dxun?" He shook his head. "Your ship's a piece of shit, Xarga." The other man didn't respond, just scowled down at the steering yoke.

Canderous straightened, pushing the heel of his hand against his jaw to pop his neck. "I'm hitting the bunk. Wake me when we drop out of light speed and I'll take the second leg." He turned to leave the cockpit, then paused on the threshold to look back at Min. She looked nauseous, like the jump had made her sick. Or she was having second thoughts about living in a Mandalorian jungle camp.

"You coming?" he asked.

Dark curls bobbed as she shook her head. She looked over at Xarga again. "It's time to tell him."

Canderous narrowed his eyes. "Tell me what?"

Running a hand over his face, Xarga glared at Min. "You couldn't have slept with him first?" he muttered.

Her low chuckle seemed to chase away some of the green tinge from her brown skin. "Thought about it. But there isn't a door between the cockpit and the rest of this bucket of bolts, and I'm not sure you'd survive the thrill."

Xarga glanced over his shoulder at Canderous. "We're not going to Dxun."

The next question was obvious, so Canderous just ground his teeth and waited for Xarga to continue. The other man sighed. "We're going to Nar Shaddaa."

He'd long ago learned to recognize the feel of Min's eyes on him, so he addressed his next question to her. "Why the hell are we going to Nar Shaddaa?"

She looked at him for a few seconds as she crossed her arms over her chest. The cracked leather seat underneath her creaked through the silence. "So you can challenge Clan Skirata's Clan Chief."

If he wasn't careful he was going to crack his back molars. "Maybe this asshole didn't explain this," he said, jerking a thumb at Xarga, "but there are only two reasons one Clan Chief would challenge another-to settle a dispute or to prove he's worthy to be Mandalore."

"I know. He explained it to me, along with a lot of other things." Her dark eyes locked with his grey ones as she added, "Including why you should become Mandalore."

Before the war, it had been a foregone conclusion, an inevitability. Every warrior knew that when Mandalore fell, Canderous Ordo would be first in line to take up the helm. Then Mandalore fell while Canderous lay unconscious in a medbay and the ships of every warrior fell in fire over Malachor.

"Mandalore of what?" he snarled. "A half-dozen middle-aged mercs?"

Her slender shoulders bobbed up and down in a careless shrug. "Six was more than I had when I built an army."

"What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped.

She stretched her long legs and stood. "I know what it takes to lead people and I know a hell of a lot about my boneheaded Mandalorian husband, which makes me pretty well informed, actually."

"Enough." He sliced his hand through the air, cutting off the discussion, then jabbed a thick finger at Xarga. "Change course. We're going to Dxun."

Xarga raised an eyebrow and waved out at the viewscreen. "We're in hyperspace."

"Then change when we drop out, _tayli'bac_?"

After Xarga glanced at Min again, Canderous nearly hoisted him out of the pilot chair by the front of his shirt and threw him into the cargo hold. But then Xarga muttered, "Yes, Clan Chief." Canderous stalked out of the cockpit and around the few crates littering the hold to the small bunk that folded out from the back wall.

It was such a small ship that he could hear her clearly from the cockpit. "Don't touch the controls. This isn't settled yet." He could hear her bootfalls padding on the deck until they stopped right behind him. "Tell me why you won't do it."

He rounded on her. "Why the hell do you want me to?" he yelled. "Mandalore doesn't live in a palace, Min. You won't get to wear nice clothes and order servants around."

"Damn. That's a shame. And here I was hoping that it would make me some kind of Mandalorian Princess or something."

He shook his head, turning back to the wall and tugging on the release for the bunk. It wouldn't give. Cursing, he unholstered his blaster and banged the butt against the rusted latch. "Well, it won't. So let it go."

"I can't do that. You need this, Canderous."

"What banthashit did he feed you, huh? Garbage about my destiny, the destiny of Clan Ordo?" Another slam of his blaster and the bunk dropped with a thud and a bounce. "I thought when you left the Jedi you'd finally forget about all that shit."

She moved into his line of sight, until her gaze, dark and intense, met his. "How can you be so damn blind? Do you really think it was just _chance_ that out of all the Clan Chiefs, or hell all Mandalorians for that matter, you're the one that survived Malachor, ended up on Taris, and met Revan with the one way to get off that rock before the entire planet burned?" Min took a step towards him, jabbing a finger in his chest to punctuate her words. "The force brought us together because we need each other. And the force has led us both to second chances that we thought we'd never have. So why the hell won't you take it?"

"Why are you pushing this?" he demanded. "Because of him?" He stabbed a finger toward the cockpit. "What did he promise you?"

She just stared at him for a second, before her face twisted and she backed away a few steps. "He didn't promise me anything, you ass! He just told me that without a Mandalore you can't rebuild your clan and that your people will wander until they're gone."

"My people are gone," he snapped, slamming his blaster down on a nearby crate. "You're the one who made sure of it. So get your head out of your ass, Min. Whatever trash he's been feeding you is pure fracking delusion."

"They're not gone, they're scattered because they don't have someone like you to unite them." She threw her hands up. "What the hell is the wrong with you? This is your chance to have your people back and you want to just piss it away? I thought they mattered to you."

He stalked closer to her until she was forced to crane her neck back to look up at him. "What am I going to do, Revan?" he snarled. "Gather the dregs? Scrape the underside of places like Kashyyyk and Dantooine for honorless thugs and raiders? All those planets and Jagi was the only Mandalorian worth the name."

"But we weren't looking for your people. You don't know how many others are out there like you and Xarga and Jagi until you look." She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him. "Here's a thought. Why don't you actually talk to your clanbrother and find out what he knows, instead of acting like an asshole and sulking like an angsty, stubborn teenager."

"Here's another thought," he growled. "Mind your own goddamn business."

She barked out a sharp laugh. "Right. Like the way you minded your own business after we escaped the _Leviathan_, or when you minded your own business and made an escape plan with my Grandfather?"

He leaned down until they were almost nose to nose. "Fine. Next time I feel the urge to save your life, I won't bother." Straightening, he turned away and stripped his shirt off. "We done now?"

"Sure. But I'm still going to Nar Shaddaa, and you have twenty-three hours, give or take, to decide if you're coming with me."

"I know what's on Nar Shaddaa." He pulled a pack of cigarras from his pocket. "Some punkass kid trying to make a name for himself by riding on the honor of a dead man."

"And you're going to let him get away with it?" Xarga said from the doorway. He leaned against the bulkhead. "Don't smoke on my ship."

Canderous drew a cigarra from the pack and his lighter from his pocket. "You can give me orders when you fly your fracking ship where I tell you to."

"I say again, we're in hyperspace," Xarga replied. "Headed for Nar Shaddaa. Where some punkass kid is turning other punkass kids into thugs for the Hutts and telling them it's for the glory of the Mando'ade."

Min's face went ashen as she muttered, "Frack."

"How do you know this?" Canderous asked Xarga, the unlit cigarra forgotten.

"You remember Quinn Fett?"

"What about her?"

"She runs a clinic there," Xarga explained. "Refugees mostly. She takes in kids from the Clans, the ones who wandered in from the camps when no one came back from Malachor."

"Kids with battle training, which makes them valuable to the Hutts. Kids with no Clan or to protect them and full of resentment and anger. They'd be so easy to manipulate into doing something stupid. Just like the kids on Korriban." Min sighed and ran her hands over her black curls, and pushing them back from her tired face. "We have to do something about this, Canderous."

"Dammit," Canderous muttered. He lit the cigarra and took a long pull. "Fine," he spat. "We'll go and deal with this bastard. But don't pretend this is a challenge between Clan Chiefs. That's just insulting."

"You can call it a punkass smackdown if that's what gives you the warm fuzzies. As long as we go." She snatched the cigarra from his lips and tossed it on the floor, grinding it under the heel of her boot. "And you heard the man. No smoking on his ship."

"Don't push it, Min," he spat, but he tossed the cigarras and lighter to the floor and stretched out on the bunk, turning his back on both of them.

There was a pause where he could hear the rustle of fabric and soft boot falls walking away before she muttered, "And here I thought _Onasi_ was the brooding one."


	5. Old Wounds

_**Chapter 5 - Old Wounds**_

The kids stumbled through the door of her clinic, one draped across the shoulder of the other, leaving a trail of bright red blood across the sterile floor. Quinn recognized them immediately despite the dented and cheap armor they wore. A pair of twins, brother and sister from Clan Beviin that left her orphanage over a year ago on their fifteenth naming day, heads full of lies about how they were going to help restore the glory of the Mando'ade.

She nodded to a gurney. "Put your sister down and tell me what happened."

The boy talked as Quinn worked. Her callused hands tore away the cheap armor and underlay off so she could inspect the gash across the girl's abdomen. "Clan Chief sent us on a shakedown. Said these Duros merchants owed him some money. That they'd insulted his honor and we were supposed to take them out. But they were waiting for us when we got there."

Quin swore a long, loud string of curses, both at their collective stupidity and at the deep gash in the girl's midsection. The wound was nasty, but nothing Quinn hadn't seen hundreds of times across dozens of planets. It took her nearly an hour to get the bleeding to stop and get the girl stabilized enough so that she'd have a fighting chance to survive the night.

When Quinn sighed and walked over to the sonic sink to scrub the blood off her hands, the boy finally found the courage to speak again. "Is she going to be okay?"

"I don't know. If she lives through the night, she'll have a good shot."

The boy blinked and nodded before heading toward the door. He only made it a few steps before Quinn grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "Where the do you think you're going?"

He wouldn't meet her eyes, his gaze locking instead on his sister's blood still splattered on the floor. One of the sanitation droids rolled past, burbling softly to itself as is began its cleaning cycle.

"I have to go back, _baar'ur,_" he murmured.

She grabbed his chin between her thumb and fingers and jerked his head up, forcing him to look her in the eye. "Like hell you do."

"I don't want to go back. The things they make us do–" He swallowed. "But I gave my word to the Clan Chief."

"That man is no Clan Chief. That asshole is a _hut'uun_ who hides behind unblooded, half-trained children," she snarled as she pointed to his unconscious sister, lying ashen and still on the gurney. "Why can't you all fracking see that?"

The boy met her gaze. His face twisted as his voice grew thick. "I do now. Some of the others do too, but we can't leave. We'd be breaking our oaths and dishonoring our Clans."

His armor rattled when she slapped the spot on his left shoulder where his Clan tattoo should someday be. He staggered under her blow. "You are an unblooded, unmarked boy. You can't give your oath yet. You haven't even earned the right."

Quinn expected him to snap back at her, to tell her that she didn't understand. That was what usually happened when the kids in her orphanage became teenagers. That is, if they didn't slink out without facing her first.

But instead he just looked beaten down and tired beyond his meager fifteen years. "It's not just that. He told us what the Hutts would do to the orphanage if we went back. The only reason I came was because we were nearby and I thought I wouldn't be able to make it back to Skirata's base before she bled out."

Burning fury over the discovery that Skirata was using the safety of her orphanage as leverage against the kids made it impossible for Quinn to answer right away. He took advantage of her silence and turned toward the door. "I'm sorry, Quinn."

"Keep your apology, kid," she said as she grabbed a hypospray off a nearby tray and jammed it into his neck. The boy gave a surprised yelp before the sedative kicked in. He pitched backward into Quinn's arms and she moved him to another gurney, right next to his sister.

Zuka, who'd been watching it all silently in the corner, helped her move him up onto the table. Still scowling, she covered the kid with a blanket. He'd be out for eight hours at least. Long enough for her to decide what the hell she was going to do.

"Was that smart?" he asked. "They're going to come looking for them."

"Yeah, they are." She pulled off the blood-spattered scrubs that covered her armor and stalked out of the front of her clinic. When she reached a pile of crates, she fished a smoke out of her pocket and sat down.

Quinn lit it and took a deep drag, savoring the familiar burn in her lungs as Zuka talked. "And you really think we can fight them off?" He pointed up at the automatic gun turrets that he'd rigged up a few months back. "I mean, those are going to be useful, and we've got a few who can fight, but..."

But most of the refugees were too old, too young, or too crippled to pick up a blade.

"I know, Zuka. I know we're fracked, all right?" All Quinn wanted to do was to pick up her blade one last time, go find Skirata, and run him through. Death would be better than letting her honor erode bit by bit this way. But if she died, the kids, especially the little ones, wouldn't have anyone to support them. Quinn knew they'd end up in a worse place: down in the cesspool that was the refugee quarter.

She tugged on the thick auburn braid that trailed over her shoulder. "Go on inside. Check on the girl and make sure everyone else is still sleeping. Move the twins to the back, and try to keep it quiet. I'll come inside in a few minutes."

He left her to brood and smoke in silence. Quinn detested the idea of hiding the twins instead of facing Skirata head on, but she didn't see another option. And even that would work only if she could scrape up enough creds to send the twins off world and convince the pair that leaving wasn't dishonorable. She was in the middle of trying to think of a good place to send them when she heard footsteps echoing down the back alley that led to her clinic.

Quinn stood, drew the blaster out of the holster strapped to her thigh and faced the three dark shapes moving in the shadows. The weight of the weapon felt good in her hand, but she knew the blaster wasn't going to be enough. The way they moved and the gleam of real polished armor told her that Skirata hadn't sent kids after her; he'd sent the thugs he called Clan.

She might get her ass kicked, hell she might even get killed, and she damn well knew what the consequences of her death would be for the kids she was still taking care of, but this was her turf. It was a place she'd fought tooth and nail to carve out of this shithole planet, and there was no fracking way she could let Skirata's thugs just walk into her clinic like they owned the place.

So she squared her shoulders and prepared for a fight. "I told you assholes that my clinic was off limits. What's the matter, run out of children to hide behind?"

She heard a familiar snort. "Nice to see you too, Quinn."

The adrenaline drained away leaving her almost weak-kneed. Quinn shoved the blaster back into the holster. "Finally decide to make yourself useful, or are you here to feed me more banthashit about restoring the Clans? 'Cause I don't have time for that today."

"Yeah, yeah," Xarga muttered as he stepped closer to the light. "Nobody's got time for my banthashit." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I brought a couple of people who might be able to help you with your problem."

A woman Quinn didn't recognize walked out of the shadows. She wore robes and lightsabers, which meant Jedi. Or Sith. Whichever she was, she wasn't what Quinn would have expected from Xarga.

The other man was exactly who Quinn would have expected from Xarga. Canderous Ordo, the supposed savior of the Clans, or so Xarga wanted to believe. Like both Xarga and herself, Canderous had fashioned himself new armor, armor whose dents and scratches didn't match the scars she knew were underneath.

Her Mandalorian conditioning, drilled into her since the time she could walk, told her to stand at attention and salute the man who'd once been a Mandalorian general and Clan Chief. The last six years of running her orphanage told her punch him in the face. Instead she took a long drag of her smoke and glared at the three of them. "Is that right? Well, he's about six years late."

"Is six years ago when you started whining about your problems instead of doing something about them?" Canderous asked.

"No. That's when the only surviving Clan Chief disappeared, leaving the youngest of his people without anyone to look after them." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "Or did you think that none of these kids belonged to Clan Ordo?"

"You don't want our help? Fine." Canderous turned around and started walking back the way they had come.

Surly ambivalence from the man who had been one of the greatest warriors in the Mando'ade made her sick. But it wasn't a surprise. Canderous Ordo was hardly the only Mandolorian that Malachor had crushed the spirit out of.

"Didn't say that," Quinn drawled as she flicked the butt of her cigarra into the corner. "These kids are fracked if someone doesn't stand up for them. So I'm stuck with your sorry ass if we're going to salvage anything out of this mess, unless you're going to let them twist in the wind a second time."

Xarga scowled at her as he muttered a Mandalorian curse. "You forget how to show a real Clan Chief respect, Fett?" he growled.

"I'll treat him like a real Clan Chief when he starts acting like one," Quinn snapped.

The Jedi shook her head. "Fracking boneheaded, stubborn, idiot Mandalorians!" She stepped into Canderous's path, forcing him to stop. "Canderous, you're acting like an ass. If you walk out on those kids now, you're going to hate yourself for it later. And you..." She pointed finger Quinn's direction. "...are acting like an idiot by insulting the man who came here to help you."

Quinn straightened up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. "Who the hell do you think you are, Jedi?"

"I'm Revan," she said. The dark eyes underneath her hood flashed a glare between Quinn and Canderous. "Now are you two going to get over yourselves or are we going to waste more time with this posturing banthashit?"

Quinn's mouth fell open. She looked over at Xarga. "Is she serious? Is she really Revan?"

"Yeah," Xarga drawled. "Quite a kick in the balls, isn't it?"

Quinn nodded slowly since she couldn't quite seem to find her voice. Or stop staring for that matter, especially when Revan pushed her hood back, revealing dark skin, black curls, and a face that looked like it belonged to one of the wealthy socialites that sometimes came down from the upper levels looking for trouble. Other than the fancy robe and lightsabers, she didn't look anything like the Jedi Quinn had faced in battle, and it was difficult to believe that this woman was the greatest enemy the Mandalorians had ever faced.

When her voice returned she blurted the first thing that came to mind. "I thought you'd be taller."

For some reason Revan frowned over at Xarga. "Yeah. I get that a lot."

Quinn tore her gaze away and looked over at the man who'd lost four sons at Malachor. "And you brought her here? Why would _Revan_ help us?"

Xarga shrugged, scratching at his shoulder. "I don't know. Something about a grenade and loyalty and apparently she's really not as smart as we all thought she was."

Canderous glared at him over Revan's head. "We took vows."

Quinn blinked, speechless once again.

It wasn't surprising that Ordo would want Revan. When the intelligence had come back during the war that Revan was a woman, there were many in the Mando'ade that had wanted to frack her just as much as they'd wanted to face her in single combat, and they hadn't even known what she looked like.

But this wasn't just battle lust. The last surviving Clan Chief of Malachor and the woman who'd destroyed their people had _bound_ themselves together. Quinn wondered why Revan would want a man that she'd broken so badly. None of the answers Quinn came up with put her mind at ease.

There was only one thing to do. She turned on her heel and choked out, "I need a drink."

"That's the smartest thing you've said yet," Xarga replied. She could hear him and the others follow her back into the clinic.

As she entered, the recirculated air of the clinic blew away the industrial, oily stench that clung to Nar Shaddaa's lower levels. "Didn't say I was going to share. Frack you, Xarga. You should have warned me."

"You wanted help, I brought help. You're welcome by the way."

"Yeah. Not what I had in mind." She threw a look over her shoulder at the couple following them, before turning her glare back on Xarga. "If this goes bad, I'm going to take it out on your hide."

"And if it goes well?" He stopped looking around the clinic long enough to shoot her a sideways glance. "You're losing ground here. Have been for years. Slapping bandages on these kids isn't going to solve the problem."

"No shit," she snapped. "My fourteen-year-old daughter marched out of here six weeks ago and swore herself to Skirata. My eleven-year-old son is probably going to end up following her. There's a kid in the next room that got torn up on a shakedown run so badly that she might not live through the night, and her idiot brother who thinks that his _honor_ requires that he go back to the _Clan Chief_. And every month or so, I fish the body of one of these kids out of the gutter."

The door to the room that she used to keep records slid open. Quinn marched over to the console, pulled a bottle of whiskey out of the drawer, popped the top, and took a long pull before turning and facing the three of them.

"When we first came here there were one hundred and thirty-seven kids in this orphanage. Now there's sixty-two left. Our Clanbrothers and sisters died honorable deaths, and their children are working as thieves and thugs because they think that's what warriors do. So tell me how the three of you are going to help me solve this problem."

"We're going to kill him," Canderous said.

"And then we'll take you all to a new camp," Xarga added. When Canderous glared at him, Xarga glared right back. "You may be Clan Chief, but the base on Dxun is mine. I train who and how I want."

She closed her eyes and sighed. It would be good to get real dirt under their feet. Training by a true weaponsmaster like Xarga would be even better. But Quinn tempered her hope with skepticism. It would take a real leader to make this happen, not a sullen, broken Clan Chief.

Revan's dark gaze flickered between the three of them before finally resting on Quinn. She tapped her chin with one long brown finger as she spoke. "I'm guessing it's not going to be as simple as just killing one man or she would have tried that already."

"It's not. That little punkass doesn't just hide behind the kids. He's got some real war veterans on his side too, scraps of warriors and mercs for hire that he calls his 'Clan.' I challenged him to an honor duel, and he refused. He said I didn't have the rank to challenge him because he was a _Clan Chief_ and I was a medic. Like I hadn't been fighting in battle and hauling warriors off of battlefields before that asshole was even born."

Quinn pointed at Canderous. "But if he makes the challenge, Skirata has to accept. Otherwise he'll lose face in front of his own men, not to mention the kids. But you have to do this right, otherwise the minute we walk in there they'll send the kids after you and it will be a bloodbath."

"If they're stupid enough to fall for this banthashit, then maybe they deserve a little blood-letting," Canderous said.

"Probably. But they haven't been properly trained and blooded. They don't have their Clanmarks. They don't know what it really means to be a Mandalorian because they're not old enough to remember their Clan Chiefs and Mandalore." She set the bottle down on the console. "That's not their fault. It's _yours_. So you want to teach them a lesson? Fine. Make them bleed so they'll remember it. But there's no honor in killing unblooded, unmarked whelps."

Canderous stalked toward her until she had to crane her neck back to look up at him. "There's no honor in talking shit to a Clan Chief either. So stop harping about what you _think_ my obligations are or I'll be obligated to remind you of your place, Fett."

She blinked up at him, surprised but pleased that there seemed to be some evidence of a fire in his belly. Finally she could see a flash of the general she'd served under. Not nearly enough to satisfy Quinn that he would be useful to the kids yet, but it was a promising start. She stretched her height as high as she could, resting on the balls of her feet, leaning forward until they were face to face.

"And I told your weaponsmaster that I'll treat you like a Clan Chief when you start acting like one." Her shoulders bobbed up and down in an exaggerated shrug. "But maybe you've forgotten how, Ordo."

There wasn't enough room between them for his back-handed blow to do more than wrench her neck and knock her against the desk. He grabbed her arm and hoisted her upright again. "You still want to challenge a Clan Chief?" he spat. "Because I'm not afraid to take you up on it."

Quinn ignored the blood that trailed down from her nose. The throbbing pain felt good as it began to burn away the doubts about his ability to take this burden from her and actually carry it.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied the anger that played across his face. "Huh. Maybe your balls weren't crushed at Malachor after all."

"I'm waiting for an answer, Fett," Canderous growled inches from her face. "Am I fighting one challenge on this shithole rock or two?"

"Depends. Are you challenging Skirata for your people or for her?" She nodded toward Revan's silent form. "Revan's kath hound barking out her orders is no good to us. If that's what you are, I'll take my chances in the dueling ring."

"The next person who questions my motives gets my blade through their gut." He glared over his shoulder at Xarga and Revan. "That includes you two."

Satisfied that Ordo finally had his head out of his ass, Quinn nodded. "It would be a shame to die before I got to see Skirata bleed." She stood up straight, saluted, and said the vow that she'd sworn years ago when she'd been assigned to General Ordo's unit. "My blade is yours until Clan Fett comes to claim it, Chief Ordo."

Canderous shot a glare at Xarga, who was trying not to look smug. "I accept it," he ground out through clenched teeth.

"I need to check on the girl and her brother and then I can take you to Skirata's base, unless you want to wait. He and his Clan work for one of the Hutts, so it will be heavily guarded." She shook her head. "He is going to shit his armor when he sees you."

"Shit, piss, bleed, and die," Xarga said cheerfully. "That's what the enemies of Ordo do best."

"Stop looking so pleased with yourself," Canderous snapped. He turned back to Quinn. "Do what you have to do, then let's move out. I want to get this over with."

Quinn nodded and pushed a button on the console. "Zuka, get in here and show your Clan Chief the rest of the clinic."

When the boy appeared at the door, Quinn left him with his Clan Chief and weaponsmaster, her long strides eating up the length of the hall. Surprisingly, Revan fell into step beside her. "I can help you with her injuries, if you'll allow it."

Quinn was torn between wanting to see the Jedi healing arts she'd heard so much about during the war, and worry that Revan might do something to harm the girl. But when she saw the kid's pale and clammy skin, she nodded. "All right. But I'll run my blade through you if you hurt her."

Revan she placed her hands over the girl's belly. "You're certainly welcome to try."

A muted white glow surrounded the Jedi's brown hands as she closed her eyes and began to do whatever the hell it was that Jedi did. Quinn kept an eye on the vital signs, and slowly they improved. By the time that Revan pulled her hands away, the girl's color and breathing were nearly normal.

"Well, damn," Quinn said.

"If I were a healer, I could do more," Revan said. "But that should help."

Quinn did a brief physical inspection of the wound, which was now just an angry red line across her abdomen.

"It did," she admitted. Quinn looked across the sleeping form on the gurney and asked the question that had been eating at her guts. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping us?"

"Because my husband needs his people back. Because when we have children, this will be one half of their heritage."

That had to be the last thing Quinn expected Revan to say. "Son of a schutta," Quinn breathed as comprehension dawned. "Are you telling me that your binding was a love match?"

Revan's lips twitched. Whether it was from amusement or exasperation, Quinn couldn't tell. "Yes."

For the third time that day, the air seemed to be sucked from Quinn's lungs as she fell speechless.

On the battlefield, Revan had been unpredictable, cunning, and dangerous, while Ordo was stubborn, strong, and arrogant. Two of the most dangerous people in the galaxy were in a love affair, and they wanted _children_.

Revan arched an eyebrow and asked, "Is this going to be a problem?"

"I don't know. Is it?" Quinn shook her head. It was much more reassuring when she thought Revan was just using Ordo for power. Love was much more volatile and unpredictable. "I can't tell if this is good for my people's future or a complete disaster that's going to wipe out anyone stupid enough to get caught in the blast radius."

Unbelievably, Revan laughed as she walked to the door. "Rethinking that oath you just swore to him?"

"Oh, hell no. I'm no coward. You both might be crazy, but he's our last chance."

"We should get to it then."

"Right." Quinn plucked a sword that was hanging on the wall, sheathed it, and followed the Jedi out into the hallway, mind buzzing with anticipation for the upcoming battle and worry that Skirata was going to be the least of her people's problems.


	6. Honor Duel

_**Chapter 6 – Honor Duel**_

Nar Shaddaa never changed; it was always the same shithole Xarga had left after his last visit. If anything, it got shittier and holier, and after spending weeks in the lower levels of Coruscant, he'd had about all he could stand of shitholes. But whether she'd admit it or not, Quinn's clinic was sinking fast, and he'd stomach an entire galaxy of shitholes if it meant not watching more of the Clans' children drown.

Two of them flanked the door to Skirata's so-called base, no more than fourteen by the look of them. By that age, they should have had years of proper training, but the boy let his blaster dangle from two fingers like a toy, and the girl wasn't much better. They slouched at the top of a short flight of stairs, looking down on the sents that scurried past, like they actually intimidated these people, like the passers-by actually cared whether they lived or died anymore.

Xarga stepped out of the alleyway, Canderous at his right shoulder, Quinn at his left, and Revan at the rear. At the sight of a real threat, the kids straightened up and took a tighter hold of their blasters. Xarga stopped at the base of the stairs and gave them time to exchange a nervous look.

"The Clan Chief of Ordo comes to issue an honor challenge to this _di'kute_ claiming to represent Skirata," he boomed, making sure he was loud enough to be heard inside.

The boy just stared at him, his Adam's apple bobbing in a slow swallow, but the girl raised her chin. "Our Clan Chief has no time for petty grievances from a dead Clan."

Like all young warriors, they assumed that anyone Xarga's age—hell, anyone over the age of thirty—couldn't possibly move faster than them. Xarga was up the stairs with a hand wrapped around the girl's braid before the boy thought to raise his weapon. Xarga wrenched her head back. The little thing actually growled at him. Maybe they weren't so lost after all.

"Maybe no one's explained it to you," he hissed in her ear, "but no real Mandalorian ever refuses an honor challenge." The hard circle of a blaster's barrel poked at the back of his head, and he swatted at it like a fly.

Behind him he heard the blaster clatter to the ground and then a thump of a body hitting a metal wall. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw that Quinn had pinned the boy against the wall, holding him there with his arm twisted behind his back.

The boy's voice cracked. "Baar'ur?"

"I taught you both better than this. You _shame_ me by refusing Chief Ordo's right to pass." She pulled the boy back from the wall and shoved him to the side before turning her glare on the girl. "Now stand aside, before you dishonor us all further."

"And show your weapon a little fracking respect," Xarga snapped, scooping up the boy's blaster and shoving it into his chest. "You want to be a warrior? Then act like one." Throwing out an arm, he crowded them both back against the railing of the staircase to let Canderous pass. When they watched with sullen eyes, he cuffed the boy on the back of the head. "That's a Clan Chief passing," he barked. "Salute, dammit!"

After another exchanged look, they each whipped out a halfway decent salute, and Xarga grunted. "Maybe you're not completely useless. Now resume your posts."

They scurried back to either side of the door. The boy gripped his weapon in front of his chest like a newborn iriaz.

"You enjoyed that too much," Canderous muttered as they passed through the door.

"Once a Weaponsmaster, always a Weaponsmaster," Xarga replied. "That's what your father used to say."

Quinn's golden eyes narrowed as though she was still sizing him up. "And here I thought you'd gone soft."

Xarga snorted. "Well, that just means you're not a very good judge of character."

They rearranged themselves into their original formation, and Xarga led the way into the dingy base. He hadn't been expecting much, and not much was what he got. Narrow hallways with flickering lights led to rooms crammed with lounging teenagers. No one drilling, no one training.

"If this Skirata wasn't such an idiot, he might have had an actual army on his hands," he noted.

"Don't underestimate him. He's not stupid, he's greedy. He doesn't have an army because he doesn't want one. Training and gear get in the way of easy credits."

"Well put, Fett." A dark-haired kid emerged from one of the rooms, flanked by two men and a woman wearing the first decent armor they'd seen in the place. They were older than teenagers; if he had to guess, Xarga would peg him about the age his oldest son would have been—a newly minted warrior on Malachor, definitely old enough to know better.

"This is the future of the Mandalorians Clans," he went on, as he held his arms out. "The strongest take what they want. The others get what's left." Dark eyes narrowed on Xarga. "Anyone who says differently is a relic."

"This is him?" Canderous sneered. Xarga shrugged and looked at Quinn.

She didn't take her eyes off of the kid as a predatory smile spread across her lips. "Yes, Chief Ordo. That's him."

"Then this won't take long," Xarga announced as he stepped forward. "All right, punk. I was going to issue a formal honor challenge, but it's clear to anyone with eyes that you don't deserve the title of Clan Chief. My Clan Chief wiping the floor with you would be just a formality at this point. So how about you get your head out of your ass and swear loyalty and then we can all get off this piece of shit rock?"

He heard the clank of armor as Canderous closed the distance between them. "That's not why we came here," he spat.

Xarga glanced at him; he knew that look, and he knew he'd pay for it later, but right now he was the only one who seemed to be looking out for the bigger picture of the Clans' future. If that meant pissing Canderous off, so be it. He'd sure as hell pissed him for less.

Canderous wasn't the only one pissed. If Quinn could have killed him with just a glare, Xarga figured he would have been dead about three times over. But it was Revan who spoke for the first time since they  
had entered the compound.

She moved forward to stand next to Canderous, dark eyes glinting under her hood. "Take the deal, kid. It's the only way you're going to live to see tomorrow."

The kid spat on the floor. "You think I'm afraid of old men who hide behind Jedi?" Stepping forward, he raised a fist in Canderous's face. "You should have died on Malachor, Ordo. That's where all the broken trash of our past belongs."

All of the rage in Canderous's eyes redirected in Skirata's direction, and Xarga barely smothered a grin. "You have somewhere we can do this?" he asked.

One of Skirata's men gestured toward the back of the compound. "The training room."

Xarga raised an eyebrow. "You have a training room? Could have fooled me."

"Enough prattling, relic," Skirata snapped. He turned on his heel and led the way down a darkened hallway. A steel-reinforced door blocked the other end. While Skirata entered the code, Xarga leaned closer to Canderous.

"He agreed to this way too easily," he muttered. "He's got something in mind. Watch your back."

Canderous just grunted. Beneath the hood of her robe, Revan shot Xarga a worried glance. He inclined his head a fraction, but there wasn't a hell of a lot he could do. The honor challenge had been taken up. From this point on, he was forbidden to interfere. Technically, so were Skirata's fighters, but that didn't stop a cold knot from settling in Xarga's gut.

A line of kids followed them into the room, though "room" would be a generous term. It was more just an empty space, no ring marked out, no weapons racks, no _weapons_. The only thing that broke up dull gray walls and floor were spattered bloodstains. The kids filed in and formed a nearly silent ring along the walls, but even the small sounds of shifting feet and under-the-breath murmurs echoed loud. Xarga got the feeling from the way they were acting that this was a common occurrence; from the bloodstains on the floor, he could guess what that occurrence was.

His teeth clenched. Letting a little blood to allow a lesson to sink beneath the skin was one thing. Skirata—or maybe one of his goons—had been getting his kicks "punishing" the kids. Xarga looked into the still-thin young faces and saw that this was their only idea of Mandalorian discipline.

He smacked his fist against Canderous's shoulder. "Make him bleed," he growled. His Clan Chief nodded, his gaze already focused on his opponent.

Xarga stepped forward. "Who here claims to be Clan Chief of Skirata?" When he looked to where the four older warriors stood in a clump, weapons at the ready, the dark-haired punk who was behind all these kids' misery rolled his eyes.

"Just get on with it, old man," he called. "My Clan has business to attend to."

Grinding his teeth against the desire to draw his sword and run the asshole through himself, Xarga turned to Canderous. "Clan Chief of Ordo, do you deny this claim?"

"Yes," Canderous spat, leaning forward like a sand dragon about to strike.

"Then prepare to fight. Battle will find the truth. _Oya_ _manda!_"

Quinn, Canderous, and all of Skirata's fighters echoed the cry. Most of the kids stayed silent, though a few joined in half-heartedly, and for the first time, Xarga felt a stab of worry that even once Canderous won, they might not be able to help these kids. But he swallowed it down as Skirata began to circle. He paced back and forth in a wide arc before lashing out with his sword. Canderous deflected the swipe easily, standing his ground, moving nothing but his eyes. Skirata was fast, Xarga had to give him that, but as he watched the punk attack and Canderous deflect again and again, he realized what Canderous had been watching for. Skirata's youth only explained part of his quickness. The rest was in his armor, or lack thereof. When the kid had remade his suit, he'd built it for speed; it lacked proper protection at the knees, elbows, shoulders, defense and weight sacrificed for freedom of movement. And Xarga knew Canderous knew it too.

He grinned as Skirata backed off, panting slightly. "Are you going to fight me, relic?" the kid snapped. "Or just stand there like an old woman waiting to die?"

The words had barely left his mouth when Candeorus launched himself forward. Skirata deflected the sword strike, but he could do nothing to stop the forward momentum of a fully armored Mandalorian warrior. Both fighters crashed to the floor; Skirata twisted as he fell, which only managed to get his arms trapped beneath him. He was younger, but Canderous had size on his side, and once he had the kid pinned to the floor, he wasn't getting back up. The kid struggled to throw off the armored figure pressing down on his back, but nothing he did prevented Canderous from snapping his head back by the hair. Canderous's blade came up beneath his chin, but it stopped just shy of slitting the throat. For half a second, Xarga thought Canderous had for some crazy reason decided to let the kid live. Then he saw Canderous twist as one of Skirata's men dashed out of the shadows, his own blade chopping downward. The twist was enough for the knife to sink into Canderous's wrist rather than the back of his neck.

Beside Xarga, Revan gasped and shifted her weight as Canderous's sword fell from blood-drenched fingers. Xarga gripped her upper arm as they both watched Canderous scramble to his feet, clutching the hilt buried in the flesh beneath his glove.

Her eyes darted back to the shadows and her face went ashen. "There's more of them coming." Her gaze flickered down to his hand on her arm. "Let me go. Now."

"You help him now and it's over, even if we win," he hissed. In the ring, Canderous tore the blade from his arm and brandished it at his new attackers with a sneer. "No Mandalorian will follow a man who needs the protection of his Jedi wife. And Canderous will never forgive you for staining his honor."

"That's banthashit. They're cheating," she snarled. "If they break the rules, we should too."

"This isn't a battle," he snapped. "It's an honor duel."

One of Skirata's men rushed Canderous. Armor crunched as they slammed into the far wall, and Xarga tightened his grip on Revan. Canderous slammed the bloody knife hilt into the base of his opponent's skull, and the man staggered back, dazed. The others approached more cautiously, one flanking each side with Skirata in the middle.

"There's only four," Xarga noted. "And they've all lost their edge. You can see it." He looked down at Revan. "I'd expect his wife to have more faith in him."

"Don't give me that shit. He wouldn't stand on the sidelines if it were me in that ring."

Canderous charged forward and caught Skirata around the waist, knocking him to the ground again. Skirata's men pulled him off, each holding an arm.

"You said you fought Malak without him," Xarga said. "Or was that banthashit too?"

Revan's lips tightened into a hard line while white lightning popped and sparked around the dark skin of her knuckles. For a moment he thought she might unleash it on him, or maybe the men in the ring, but as quickly as it came, it was gone. She muttered a string of curses under her breath, but made no move to join the battle.

In the ring, Skirata slammed his gloved fist into Canderous's face. He reared back for another blow, but Canderous swung his legs up, kicking Skirata under the jaw and knocking the two warriors holding him off balance. They all fell to the ground with a deafening crash of steel on steel. Canderous rolled, then dragged down the woman pushing to her feet. Her yelp ended in a gurgle as Canderous sliced the knife across her throat. As he pried her sword from her slackening grasp, one of the men scrambled forward across the blood-slick floor, sliding his dagger into the gap of armor at Canderous's waist.

Xarga felt Revan tense at Canderous's shout, but he knew it for a sound of outrage rather than pain. Apparently the man with the knife did as well because he released the knife and retreated rather than press his advantage. Canderous rose from the floor, spattered in the woman's blood, brandishing her sward with one hand while he clawed at the knife in his back with the other.

"Leave it!" Quinn shouted. "It will slow the bleeding."

Canderous shot her a glare, but lowered his hand to grip the sword hilt in a two-handed stance. Skirata and one of his goons stood before him, while the one he'd knocked in the head approached from behind. For a moment, only the sound of heavy breathing filled the small space, then Canderous darted forward. Both of Skirata's men attacked from two sides; at the last second, Canderous ducked, sending one man sprawling over his back and colliding into the other. Canderous whirled and jumped into the tangle, sword rising and falling as it sought out the other men's weaker armor. When he stood again, two more bodies lay bleeding on the floor.

Skirata watched with wide eyes as the red warrior before him dropped the woman's sword and reclaimed his own. His gaze flicked to the side, to the circle of kids around them, and Xarga's stomach clenched. But Canderous has caught the shifted gaze as well, and with a roar, he sprang forward. Skirata jumped toward the kid closest to him—a slack-jawed, brown-haired boy of no more than eight or nine—but Canderous's sword sank into the unprotected back of his knee. Skirata crumpled, his hand closing on thin air inches from the boy's arm. An older girl with Quinn's auburn hair and stubborn jaw snatched the boy by the waist and herded the nearest children to stand behind her mother. Without a word, Canderous dropped to his knees on Skirata's back.

"Wait!" Skirata cried into the floor. "I'll swear loyalty to you. I'll fight for the glory of Clan Ordo."

Canderous raised his sword over his head, then snapped it down to cut through Skirata's neck. The asshole who'd used the children of true Mandalorian warriors as his shield twitched and died.

Canderous pushed himself to his feet, unable to rise to his full height because of the knife still stuck in his back. Almost immediately Revan started to go to him, but Xarga pulled her back again as he glanced at the kids gathered on the edges of the room. "Wait," he murmured.

"Anyone else?" Canderous growled. One of his eyes squinted shut, swollen and purple, as he glared at what remained of Skirata's gang.

No one spoke. The clanking of Xarga's armor rang through the room as he stepped forward. "Chief Ordo has shown this filth to be unworthy of the title of Clan Chief." He kicked Skirata's body for good measure. "Now is the time to show _your_ worth," he said, turning in a slow circle to address the assembled kids. "Now is the time to join a _real_ Clan. To become _real_ warriors." He pointed toward the exit. "Anyone who wants to learn the true meaning of Mando'a, return to the clinic. Bring nothing but your weapons and what armor you have. We leave for the base on Dxun at first light."

Silence descended again, all of the kids staring at the remains of their leader or at the bleeding warrior standing in front of them. Xarga looked at them each in turn, gratified to see that none of them shied away from the sight at least. As Canderous turned to limp to the door, Xarga fell into step behind him with Quinn and Revan following. Despite the knife sticking out of his Clan Chief's back and the blood dripping to the floor, Xarga smiled. For the first time in a long time, he was back where he was meant to be.


	7. Bittersweet Victory

**_Chapter 7 - Bittersweet Victory_**

It took them longer than Min would have liked to make their way back to Quinn's clinic; three steps out of the back exit of Skirata's base Canderous's knees buckled. Xarga and Quinn caught him under his shoulders before he hit permacrete. Min felt a mixture of relief that he hadn't maimed himself further and sharp disappointment that he hadn't fallen on his ass the way he deserved.

Min manipulated the Force as they helped him walk, concentrating on stopping the bleeding of his most pressing wounds but making sure not to dull any of the pain. If her husband was going to be a bonehead and insist on fighting alone while outnumbered, he could damn well feel all of the effects of it.

By the time they made it through the front door of the clinic, a handful of kids from Skirata's base already lined the halls and snapped into salutes as they passed. Quinn's golden eyes scanned the kids, her broad features pulling into a grimace as a surge of disappointment and fear slammed into Min's senses.

"Dammit," Quinn muttered as they made their way to one of the back rooms. When she saw Zuka watching them quietly, she slid out from underneath Canderous's shoulder. As Xarga helped Canderous the rest of the way to the gurney, she murmured to the boy, "Marta?"

Zuka shook his head. "Not yet." He jerked his thumb toward the door. "I'll let you know, okay?"

Quinn shook her head. "Get the kids ready. We're leaving at daybreak."

She turned back to Canderous and began to remove the armored plates, working around the blade still stuck in his back. Min moved in to help, her irritation with Canderous momentarily forgotten.

"Your daughter?" she asked.

Quinn's mouth hardened into a thin line. "Yeah."

Min nodded at Canderous's wound. "Look, if you need to go after her, I can–"

Min felt a surge of grief, but the hard look on Quinn's face never changed. "No. I have a job to do here. She chose to leave. She has to choose to come back."

"And if she doesn't come by morning?"

Quinn tugged off the armored backplate and set it aside. "You heard the Weaponsmaster. We leave for Dxun without her."

Canderous grunted in pain and raised his head. "Is she as stubborn as you are?"

A surge of pride lanced through Quinn's grief. "More," she admitted. "In a way that only a fourteen-year-old kid can be."

"She'll come," Xarga said.

Quinn's hands paused for a second, the hard line of her mouth softening a bit, and then it was back to business with a curt nod. Her fingers probed the swollen flesh around the blade still sticking out of Canderous's back. "Missed all of the organs. That was damn lucky."

"Or the Force looking out for idiot, boneheaded Mandalorians," Min muttered.

"Or maybe I know what I'm doing," Canderous growled with a glare for each of them.

Min moved until she was standing in front of him. With him sitting on the gurney they were eye to eye for a change, and she returned his glare with one of her own. "I hope you enjoyed your stupidity, because I'm not standing aside when you are outnumbered _ever again_."

After spitting blood on the floor, he regarded her through a swollen eye. "This was your idea, not mine."

She reached for his injured wrist and pulled off the glove and gauntlet as she turned her narrowed eyes to Xarga. "You told me that these would be rules about these challenges. That was a fracking free-for-all, not an honor duel."

"I said there were rules about who could challenge Mandalore," he replied, taking the pieces of Canderous's armor from her hands. "That's why we're doing this, remember?"

"We did this because that Skirata was an honorless piece of shit that needed to be put down," Canderous snapped. "And now we're done."

With a shrug, Xarga tossed the gauntlet and glove to clatter on top of Canderous's other discarded armor. "Whatever you say, Clan Chief."

Canderous glared at him. "And show my armor respect, _chakaar_."

"Whatever you say, Clan Chief." Xarga's tone made it clear he was having a hard time holding back a grin. He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll go keep an eye on the new recruits. Make sure none of them have any misguided ideas about vengeance."

From behind Canderous's bulk, Quinn snorted. "Stirring up shit and then running like hell. Good to see Ordo's Weaponmaster hasn't changed."

Xarga grunted as he walked out of the room. "You're welcome," he called back over his shoulder.

"All right, I've numbed the area, so let's get this damn knife out of his back," Quinn said. "Ready?"

Min nodded and closed her eyes. The metal slid out of his flesh with a slick sound, followed by blood spattering across the gurney and floor. She focused on stopping the blood loss, while the medic sterilized and closed up the wound.

Quinn let out a low whistle when they were finished. "Unbelievable. What I wouldn't have given to be able to do that during the war, Jedi."

Min opened her eyes, as Quinn began the inspection of the rest of Canderous's wounds, including his wrist. "I'm glad you couldn't. We had a hell of a time winning as it was."

Quinn stepped back, apparently satisfied with what she saw. "No permanent damage, but you'll have to wait a week or so to heal up before you challenge the next Clan Chief."

"He wasn't a Clan Chief," Canderous growled. He slid off the med table, then caught himself on the edge with a muttered curse as he staggered again.

Quinn crossed her arms over her chest. "For all of the influence he had over these kids, he might has well have been." Her gaze flickered over to the door. "My orphans aren't the only ones who have lost their heritage; they're just the ones I could find. There's a whole damn generation out there that thinks that assholes like Skirata is what being a Mandalorian is all about."

"Are you done?" Canderous snapped. Without waiting for an answer he wandered away to sit heavily on one of the lower cots set up in the corner.

Golden eyes narrowed. Min thought the medic might push more, but she nodded and said, "Yes, Chief Ordo." She turned her gaze to Min and opened her mouth to say something when the comm beeped.

Zuka's tinny voice cut through the silence in the room. "She's back, _baar'ur_."

"Son of a schutta," Quinn breathed. Min could see the tension in the woman's broad shoulders slip away as gratitude and relief lit up her Jedi senses. The medic took one last look over at Canderous sitting on the cot. "Looks like it's my turn to stir up shit and run like hell."

Min's lips twitched. "Go yell at your kid."

Quinn gave them both one last appraising look before nodding and leaving them alone.

Min walked over to the cot and put her hands on Canderous's broad shoulders. She sighed and let the Force chase away some of the pain from his injuries. "You did a good thing today," she murmured.

He grunted. "I didn't do it for your approval."

"You did it because it needed to be done." She glanced back over at the door before looking down at him again. "But killing Skirata is just the beginning of what those kids out there need, and I think you know that."

Canderous knocked her hands away with his uninjured arm. "You think I know that?" He glared up at her. "Was it meeting Xarga that made you such a patronizing bitch or have you always been this way?"

She arched an eyebrow. "I wouldn't have to be such a patronizing bitch if you didn't need a kick in the ass so badly. I'm not going to let you lay down and give up on your people anymore than you let me lay down and die on the Star Forge."

"_My people_ don't exist," he spat. "You saw to that."

"Banthashit." She nodded to the door. "Your people are right behind that door, waiting for a leader. And the ones that aren't, the ones that are still scattered, will be coming once word spreads about what happened today."

"Getting the itch to take over the galaxy again, Revan?"

Min rolled her eyes. "Yeah. I thought it would be too easy with my _Sith Fleet_ so this time I thought I'd take a decade or so to rebuild your people and use them as my puppets."

She crossed her arms and shook her head. "What the hell is wrong with you? When I wanted to die, you were the one who yelled at me for giving up and not fighting back. I got an earful for hiding like a coward from everyone who was loyal to me and yet here you are doing the same fracking thing. Were you just feeding me a line of shit, or did you actually mean what you said?"

Spreading his arms wide, he gestured around them. "Do you see me begging a whiny pilot to put a blaster to my head?"

"What I see is _worse_. If you walk away now, what do you think that's going to do to you?" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "You'll be breathing but your honor will be in shreds and you'll be dead inside."

Canderous grabbed her hand and wrenched her wrist away. "And you think that's going to change because Xarga drags a few kids back to Dxun?" he hissed. "The Clans spanned an empire. When the basilisks fell, we blotted out suns."

"Who the hell do you think you're talking to, Ordo?" The battles were still fuzzy in her memory, but she could still hear the sound of sonic booms as the basilisks broke the atmosphere. "I faced your people in battle for five years. I know what you were."

She threw her hands wide. "You're right. You can't recapture the glory of the empire in one generation, but the Mando'ade can rebuild if someone has the stones to stand up and lead them."

"You want to reunite the Clans so badly, do it yourself." He pulled his lighter from his pocket, but as he reached for his pack of cigarras with his other hand, he grunted in pain and tossed the lighter onto the cot behind him instead.

"Or you can get off your ass and be the leader that you were meant to be." She waved a dismissive hand in his direction. "Because these banthashit excuses and evasions that you're spewing are unworthy of you."

Through the darkening bruises and the lingering blood, she could see his jaw clench. He looked up at her, one eye now swollen shut. "And what the hell do you know about what I'm worth?"

"I know everything about what you're worth," she snapped, before blinking at him and realizing there was something significant she was missing. Something she'd understand if she were Mandalorian. She asked the question slowly, because it seemed so fracking ridiculous, and yet exactly like some kind of boneheaded Mandalorian hangup. "Is that why you won't become Mandalore, Canderous? Because you think you're _unworthy_?"

"Look around," he growled. "Or maybe you've forgotten what the underlevels of Taris looked like."

Her eyes narrowed. "What's your point, Ordo?"

"We're all raiders and thugs." His mouth twisted in a sneer as he looked away from her. "This is where we belong."

She put her hands on her hips and glared down at him. "That has to be, without a doubt, the most idiotic thing I've ever heard you say."

"Then you've forgotten how we met. You've forgotten the assholes we fought on Dantooine and Kashyyyk." He rubbed a hand over his face, and for a second his exhaustion vibrated through the Force. "I thought your memory was coming back, not getting worse."

If she was angry before, she was absolutely furious now. "Don't compare yourself to those bastards. You're not Davik's thug anymore. You fought by my side across a galaxy and I wouldn't be standing here if it wasn't for your honor."

"My honor died when I survived Malachor." Canderous met her gaze again; all the anger had drained from his expression. "You killed most of us, and the rest were left broken. You pushed for complete, permanent victory, and you got it."

"Banthashit. An honorless thug would have turned us in to the Sith for the bounty, but you watched our backs instead. An honorless thug would have abandoned us on the _Leviathan_, but you almost killed yourself to rescue us. You could have left when I fell apart, or when the Jedi took me away, or anytime when things got tough, and you didn't have to do what you did today. So don't give me that shit about being honorless and unworthy, because you _live_ your honor, Canderous."

His good eye narrowed. "Why do you want this?"

Of all of the reasons she had, she spoke the one that weighed on her heart the most. "Because if Revan, of all people, gets a second chance, then the Mando'ade deserve one too."

One steel-colored eye gazed back at her for the space of several heartbeats, then he grunted and began to flex and massage his injured wrist. "We won't answer to the Republic."

Her victory brought a tangled mix of emotions ranging from fear at the uncertainty of their future to fierce pride that he was becoming the leader she knew he could be. She traced her fingertips over his swollen eye letting the healing energy flow into his bruised skin.

"I know. But I trust you. You won't force me to choose between my honor and you."

"You can't interfere," he said. Calloused fingers wrapped around hers, pulling them down from his face. "I do this alone."

Min knew that she was going to hate every second of the months ahead, already terrified of the duels he was going to have to face without her. "You fight the challenges alone, but you have to let Xarga and I watch your back."

"Not in the ring," he insisted. "I fall in the ring, it's over."

"You told me if I trusted your skill that I would trust in your victory. So I am. You won't fall," she said, as much for herself as for him. She had to make herself believe it or she wouldn't be able to stand aside and watch.

"You can't take vengeance after an honor duel either," he continued like he hadn't heard her. "You want to avenge me, you have to declare a challenge of your own."

Min's voice rose as her grip tightened on his hand. "You won't fall."

He shrugged. "You're the one who always says I'm an arrogant bastard."

"You _are_ an arrogant bastard, but I can't..." Her throat tightened as fear nearly got the better of her. She choked back the temptation to call the whole damned thing off, knowing that despite the danger this was something they both needed. It took a few moments before she met his gaze again. "You have to live through this. You owe me a future, dammit."

Even as he shook his head, she caught the wry quirk of his lips. "Don't blame me. If you'd just kept your mouth shut, we'd be sitting on Dxun right now."

"Probably in a bunker as rusty as Xarga's ship that we'd have to share with a half dozen middle aged mercs. Somehow I can't quite bring myself to feel sorry about messing up that plan."

Canderous raised an eyebrow. "We're headed for that bunker tomorrow. Only now we'll be surrounded by a few dozen teenagers."

"_Exactly_." Despite her worry, she couldn't keep the smirk off her face. "Now you'll be as irritated with the whole situation as much as me."

"So the two of us annoyed and trapped in a small bunker?" He snorted. "Maybe we should split up now and save time."

"I was thinking something more creative like kicking everyone out and working off the frustration through sex."

Canderous grinned. "Or we go out hunting boma and then have sex in the underbrush."

Min brushed her thumb across his jaw and nodded toward the cot he was sitting on. "You'll need to heal up before that can happen. You need to rest."

"Nag, nag, nag," he muttered. "This is why I never took vows."

She arched an eyebrow and pushed him on his back, climbing into the cot beside him. "It's your own damn fault, Ordo. You're the fool who bound yourself to me."

Grunting, he adjusted his position off his injured side and closed his eyes. "You're the one always saying the Force brought us together. Can't I blame it?"

Min shifted closer, resting her hand against his chest, finding unexpected reassurance in his words. The Force had brought them this far. She could not believe they would falter now.

"Yes, I suppose you can," she murmured before closing her eyes and letting the sound of his breathing lull her to sleep.


	8. Epilogue

_**Epilogue**_

At times in the year that Min had lived among the Mandalorians at the growing base camp on Dxun, she had thought she'd begun to understand the people she'd once fought against. However, more often than not, their culture completely baffled her.

While standing in the camp's clinic, she decided baffled certainly described how she felt. Ordo's newly minted Clan Chief and the medic had ambushed her with a request that seemed to come out of the blue.

Min arched an eyebrow at Xarga and Quinn. "You can't be serious. A Clan tattoo?"

The look on Xarga's face seemed determined to indicate that he was, in fact, serious. "Is that Canderous's kid?" he asked, nodding toward her abdomen.

Min's dark eyes widened and then narrowed. "You looking for an asskicking, Xarga?"

"That's another thing," Quinn said. "No honor duels for you until after the birth. So if you want to kick his ass, you'll have to wait another eight months or so or have your mate stand in for you."

"And what if I want to kick _your_ ass?" Min said, punctuating her words with a glare. "How the hell does Xarga know about this anyway?"

Quinn's shoulders bobbed up and down in a careless shrug. "I told him, of course. He's the baby's Clan Chief."

"Damn straight," Xarga agreed. "And a child of Mandalore deserves two parents properly marked as warriors." He scowled at Min like she'd been derelict in her duty. "I guess if you want to you can choose another Clan, but I'm claiming the kid for Ordo."

Min couldn't stop herself from crossing her arms across her belly. "Claiming the kid for Ordo? What the hell does that mean?"

Annoyance crept into Xarga's expression through upraised eyes and a curled lip. "If I have my way, it means that kid will be Clan Chief of Ordo as soon as they're old enough," he said, scratching at his balding scalp.

Min turned her glare back to Quinn. "How many other people have you told? Canderous going to find out that he's a father from camp gossip?"

"We're the only ones that know right now." Quinn glanced over at Xarga. "Unless you've told Mandalore already."

He shook his head. "Not yet." His hand dropped from his head to jab a thick finger in Min's direction. "And I won't as long as you don't put off getting your Clan mark any longer than you already have. You should have gotten it right after you took vows."

Min rolled her eyes. "You mean when I didn't know I was married and when we were in the middle of trying to save the galaxy? Yeah, you're right. I should have gotten right on that."

"Well, you know now," Quinn said. "So it's time."

Min sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Is this really necessary?"

"Look, that kid you're carrying is important to more than just the two of you," Quinn replied. "The births among our people since Malachor have been too few. You and Mandalore are setting an example, so this needs to be done right."

"You want to protect that kid and Canderous?" Xarga's tone held none of Quinn's reason and all of his usual scolding as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Then prove to the Clans that you're one of us. Prove you're not going to take that kid back to the Republic as leverage against Mandalore."

"You want me to _prove myself _to the Clans?" Min retorted. "Returning the helm, convincing him to become Mandalore, and standing on the sidelines as I've watched him duel for the last year isn't fracking good enough for you people?"

With narrowed eyes, Xarga leaned toward her. "No."

She threw her hands wide. "If my actions aren't enough to convince you all to trust me, why the hell would some ink on my shoulder?"

After a long moment of silence, then another moment of burying his face in his hand and muttering a long curse into his palm, Xarga slapped his own shoulder with a resounding whack. "You carry a mark, you become _Clan_. I would hope even someone as thick-headed as you would know what that means by now."

"Yeah. It means that you're going to be butting into our lives even more than you already have," she muttered.

"Don't get lippy with me, girly," he replied. "And don't start thinking that having Mandalore's helm and a base camp means Canderous is even remotely in the clear. So instead of griping, maybe you ought to be grateful you've got someone to watch your sorry ass and keep you from making a mistake that will get us all killed."

"Canderous was right," she said as she shook her head. "You _are_ worse than a Clanmother."

"He really is," Quinn agreed. "But he's also right. So will you accept the honor of the Clan mark or not?"

Min looked at the pair of them, realizing that for all they had phrased it as a demand and an insult, the offer to become Clan really was an honor. She raked a hand through her black curls as she gave in. "Okay. Yes."

"Good. Now get up there." Quinn nodded to the stretcher, and then pointed at Xarga. "And you, get to work already."

Beside the stretcher, in the middle of a tray of surgical instruments, lay a needle attached to a canister of black ink. After picking it up, Xarga inspected it, though it held no label. Silence pressed down on them before he raised his brown eyes to Min.

"You've proven yourself worthy to become a warrior of Ordo," he said. "Join our ranks and stand against our enemies for the glory of the Mando'ade."

She held his gaze for a few more silent moments before nodding and saying, "My blade, my honor, my life. For Ordo and the Mando'ade."

Quinn ducked forward for a moment to swipe a disinfectant cloth down Min's arm, then stepped back to allow Xarga to press the needle against prickling skin. Min winced as it pierced into her flesh.

"The enemies of Ordo are now your enemies," Xarga said. "Your enemies are now the enemies of Ordo."

As he bent over to continue the design, Min looked down at the man who had once stood on the other side of enemy lines. Mandalorians as a whole were never easy for her to read, but she could feel Xarga's sudden tension slam into her senses. It stuck in her throat and tasted like grief. Before Malachor V, he'd been the father of four sons; afterward, he'd had no family except his Clan.

By his own insistence and his own hand, that Clan now included the woman whose orders sent the ships of his children crashing to solid ground.

As Min struggled to wrap her mind around that, Quinn pulled a bottle of firewhiskey from a drawer, popped the top, and took a swig before walking over and inspecting what Xarga had started. She took the needle from Xarga, handed him the bottle, and bent over Min's shoulder to continue Xarga's work.

At Min's questioning frown, Quinn shook her head and said, "You don't want this one to actually finish the tattoo unless you want something that looked like it was scribbled on by a four-year-old."

Rather than respond to the insult, Xarga just grunted and retreated to a bunk in the corner of the clinic, whiskey in hand. He watched Quinn's hands without expression and took occasional sips from the bottle.

Min wished like hell she could take a drink of it herself. Instead she asked, "Is there anything else that I need to know? Any other customs about this baby that I'm going to be expected to follow?"

After a long swallow of whiskey, Xarga wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Canderous and I will take care of the rites after the birth," he replied, his words chased by a quiet burp. "By the time the kid's of age we should have a proper training ground and children's barracks."

"Great," Min said. "But my son won't be staying in any children's barracks."

Squeezing his eyes shut, Xarga pinched the bridge of his nose. "Canderous can fight that battle." He dropped his hand and looked up at her. "Son, huh?"

"Yeah. Another hell-raising son of Ordo." She sighed. "I'm not sure if I'm ready for this."

He snorted. "You're not. Trust me." He got to his feet, then walked over and set the bottle on the instrument tray. "Now that we've got this crisis dealt with, I'll go handle the ten thousand other stupid duties of a Clan Chief instead of training recruits where I belong." His finger jabbed at Min again as his lips twisted in a sneer. "Reducing our numbers to the point where _I_ become Clan Chief may be the thing I never forgive you for."

"Me either. Especially if we have to hear him bitch about it for the next twenty years," Quinn muttered, not quite under her breath.

Xarga scowled at her. "You know, there's not so many Fetts around that you might not end up as Clan Chief."

Quinn didn't look up from her work. "There are more Fetts than medics in camp. I don't think Mandalore or his mate are going to want this boy delivered by one of the snot-nosed kids I'm training because I'm too busy being Fett's Chief."

Min's lips thinned. "You're damn right, we don't."

A smug smirk crossed Quinn's lips. "Looks like you're on your own, _Chief Ordo_."

"You can be Clan Chief. I'll deliver the kid. I delivered my youngest." Xarga eyed Min with that look he got when he was about to declare her too skinny. "Though I bet this one will insist on a first-class shuttle to the ritziest hospital on Coruscant."

Min frowned back at him. "If you're the one doing the delivery, then that's exactly what's going to happen."

"Don't worry," Quinn said. "There are several ambitious young Fetts itching to prove themselves. Besides, I'm not stupid enough to get suckered into being Clan Chief." Her eyes flickered briefly in Xarga's direction. "Unlike some."

"I remember someone lecturing the kids on Nar Shaddaa about the respect due a Clan Chief," he growled. "What happened to that?"

"The Clan Chief came into my clinic bellyaching like a stuck cannok." She pointed toward the door. "Now go on and make yourself useful. I have work to do."

After shooting them both another glare, Xarga turned and walked out, hands in his pockets, grumbling under his breath.

In only a few more minutes, the medic finished the tattoo. She straightened up, rubbing at the small of her back, and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "There's a mirror over there if you want to take a look."

Min hopped off the table and began to inspect the new Clan mark on her left shoulder. In the mirror she saw Quinn snort at her dubious expression, shake her head, and leave the room chuckling. After a good five minutes Min finally came to the conclusion that Quinn had done a decent job. It didn't look as terrible as it had felt going on. She was so wrapped up in tracing the swirls and lines of her new tattoo with her finger that she didn't sense the familiar presence approaching until Canderous entered the clinic. Min had a feeling she had Xarga to thank for his arrival.

In silence he walked to stand behind her; the silence stretched on as he conducted his own inspection of her shoulder. Then gray eyes met hers in the mirror.

"What brought this on?"

"More like who," she said.

One of his eyebrows lifted. "All right. Who brought this on?"

"Your son. Because apparently it's extremely important to have his mother be a marked warrior like his father. Or so his Clan Chief told me."

Canderous's other eyebrow twitched upward. The rest of his expression didn't change, but pride and satisfaction surged in the Force around him, stronger than any emotion Min had ever felt from him. "He's right."

"I expected Clan for our child." In truth, she'd counted on it. Knowing that Clan Ordo would protect him, if there ever came a time when she couldn't do it herself, was a huge relief. "Not so much for me," she admitted as her gaze dropped to the mirror where it reflected the tattoo on her arm.

One of his hands had risen halfway to her shoulder, but it stopped and moved to slide under the hair at the nape of her neck instead. "So why didn't you tell Xarga to frack off?"

She turned and arched an eyebrow at him. "Because this is what I want."

"I would have stayed in the Republic," he said. "For you." His other palm pressed against her stomach. "For this."

"I know." She covered his hand with hers. "But I don't want the Republic for you or for him or even for me. We don't belong there."

"No," he agreed. The hand on her neck trailed down to her shoulder, and a smile—not a grin or a smirk but a genuine smile—spread across his face. "You're Clan now."

She was so astonished by the sight that for a few seconds she couldn't do anything except blink at him, before returning his smile with one of her own. "You bet your ass I am."

"And what am I going to have to do in exchange for all this?" he asked.

She laughed and nodded to the door. "Well, first of all, I expect you to conquer a planet in my honor. Preferably one with warm sandy beaches and a resort."

He snorted. "Hardly sounds worth the effort. Anything else?"

She reached into his vest pocket and pulled out his pack of cigarras. "And these will have to go."

The last hint of his smile vanished as he looked from the pack to her. "You're shitting me."

"Nope." She crossed her arms and arched an eyebrow. "Unless you don't think your son's health is worth the effort."

He released his hold on her and spread his arms wide. "I've been smoking for forty years and it hasn't affected my health. Can't you just shield him with the Force?"

She jammed a finger into his chest. "You have an implant. He won't have his own for years. Besides, you're supposed to be setting an example for him."

The hand that rubbed over his face muffled most of the cursing. "Anything else?" he asked, sounding considerably less amused than the first time he'd asked.

"Just one more thing. I want to name him after my grandfather."

With a long-suffering sigh, he put his hands on his hips. "You want to call the son of Mandalore Ja'Taren?"

She frowned up at him. "What's wrong with Ja'Taren? It's a good name."

"It's a fussy Republic name. Our kid's not living in a penthouse, Min."

"No. He'll be living here with his Clan, trained by his Clan, have a Clan mark on his shoulder, and carry Ordo's name. But I want him to have something from my past too and my grandfather is the only family I have."

As Canderous paced away from her, he clasped his hands on the top of his head. When he turned back, his eyes went to her shoulder, his hands dropped, and his breath escaped in a loud whoosh. "Dammit," he muttered. "Fine."

"Good," she sighed. She looked down at her belly. "I wish you could sense him. He's..." She struggled to find words to describe the white spark of life that was their son. "...incredible."

Canderous came back to her, curling an arm around her waist and touching her abdomen again with his other hand. "Force sensitive?"

"Very. He's going to need training for that too." Min paused, worried for the first time about the huge responsibility their son would bring. "I'm going to need Bastila's help with that. Or maybe Jolee's."

"They're not taking him," Canderous growled.

"I'd never give my boy to the Jedi," she said as she placed her palm on his chest. "But I will need people to help me do this right. It would be dangerous otherwise."

"And you'll need help for our other kids, too." He sighed. "I'm going to have Jedi in my camp for years."

She arched an eyebrow. "Other kids? How many more are we talking here, Mandalore?"

His usual smug grin returned. "Haven't you been listening to Quinn's lectures? We have a responsibility to repopulate the Clan."

As if on cue, the medic appeared in the doorway. "That's right. You should have at least three."

Min's eyes widened. "_At least_ three? He's definitely going to have to conquer a resort planet for me then."

"I could always get your Clan Chief to remind you of your duty," Canderous said.

"Great," Min muttered as she glared up at him. "He can slip it in between complaining that I don't eat enough and planning your future."

"Welcome to Clan life, Revan," Quinn said, not bothering to hide her amusement.

Annoyed, Min pulled away from Canderous's embrace to pick up her Jedi robe from the stretcher. She started to shrug it back on, but paused as he came up behind her. After a few seconds she draped it over her arm instead, leaving her shoulder bare and her new Clan mark for all to see. Canderous didn't comment, but she felt another surge from the Force around him, the now-familiar mix of pride, contentment, and desire that constituted his love for her. Quinn didn't say anything either; she merely nodded in approval as they walked together out of the clinic and into another humid, green afternoon in the Dxun camp.


End file.
